So I Was Told That Human Planet Had A Segment About Pigeons In The Cities Episode That I Might Be Interested

So I was told that Human Planet had a segment about pigeons in the Cities episode that I might be interested in and I was honestly so underwhelmed. I haven’t finished the episode so maybe there’s more pigeon stuff but I feel like all I saw was more Birds Of Prey Are The Only Cool And Acceptable Birds and pigeons are Trespassers In Our Urban World Who Shit On Everything And Are Useless On Top Of It. Which isn’t true and I’m so tired of this being framed as some horrible burden that humanity must face. Pigeons are the victims here, not us. 

Hate of pigeons didn’t start until the 20th Century. Before that was about 9,900 years of loving them. The rock pigeon was domesticated 10,000 years ago and not only that, we took them freaking everywhere. Pigeons were the first domesticated bird and they were an all-around animal even though they were later bred into more specialised varieties. They were small but had a high feed conversion rate, in other words it didn’t cost a whole lot of money or space to keep and they provided a steady and reliable source of protein as eggs or meat. They home, so you could take them with you and then release them from wherever you were and they’d pretty reliably make their way back. Pigeons are actually among the fastest flyers and they can home over some incredible distances (what fantastic navigators!). They were an incredibly important line of communication for multiple civilisations in human history. You know the first ever Olympics? Pigeons were delivering that news around the Known World at the time. Also, their ability to breed any time of year regardless of temperature or photoperiod? That was us, we did that to them, back when people who couldn’t afford fancier animals could keep a pair or two for meat/eggs. 

Rooftop pigeon keeping isn’t new, it’s been around for centuries and is/was important to a whole variety of cultures. Pigeons live with us in cities because we put them there, we made them into city birds. I get that there are problems with bird droppings and there’s implications for too-large flocks. By all means those are things we should look to control, but you don’t need to hate pigeons with every fibre of your being. You don’t need to despise them or brush them off as stupid (they have been intelligence tested extensively as laboratory animals because guess what other setting they’re pretty well-adapted to? LABORATORIES!) because they aren’t stupid. They’re soft intelligent creatures and I don’t have time to list everything I love about pigeons again. You don’t need to aggressively fight them or have a deep desire to kill them at all. It’s so unnecessary, especially if you realise that the majority of reasons pigeons are so ubiquitous is a direct result of human interference.

We haven’t always hated pigeons though, Darwin’s pigeon chapter in The Origin of Species took so much of the spotlight that publishers at the time wanted him to make the book ONLY about pigeons and to hell with the rest because Victorian’s were obsessed with pigeons (as much as I would enjoy a book solely on pigeons, it’s probably best that he didn’t listen).  My point is, for millenia, we loved pigeons. We loved them so much we took them everywhere with us and shaped them into a bird very well adapted for living alongside us.

It’s only been very recently that we decided we hated them, that we decided to blame them for ruining our cities. The language we use to describe pigeons is pretty awful. But it wasn’t always, and I wish we remembered that. I wish we would stop blaming them for being what we made them, what they are, and spent more time actually tackling the problems our cities face.  

I just have a lot of feelings about how complex and multidimensional hating pigeons actually is

Martyr

I'm strong on the surface, Not all the way through. I've never been perfect, But neither have you. - Leave Out All the Rest [Linkin Park] Febuwhump Day 13: "Hidden Injury" | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

“Mercy, come in.” Angela blinked, glancing around. What—? She found herself draped uncomfortably over broken concrete and wood; it appeared she had landed on what remained of a wall or building - but why would she be in any such place? Right. She was in Germany, with a strike team. There had been an explosion that had taken them all unaware. Just like that, she was moving. There would be injured to tend to - both on her strike team and for any innocents caught in the crossfire of this terrorist attack. She felt the Valkyrie suit humming, warm against her skin; distantly, Angela knew that meant she was injured - but, since she couldn’t see any blood, Angela dismissed it as unimportant. “Mercy! Do you copy?” The voice called again, this time more worried. She was unsurprised at the worry; she was the medic and the Medical Director, after all. “I copy,” she replied, one hand lifting to her ear while the other gripped her staff firmly. Angela moved her hand, flipping a small switch on the halo that would engage her HUD. It sparked to life, allowing her to see through the hazy dust that floated around her. Without hesitation, she moved towards the first individual she could see. She found the man, blood pouring from a gash in his side, and pointed her staff. After a moment, Angela realized that the staff wasn’t operating properly - it must have been broken in the explosion. She set the staff aside with a disgusted sigh before kneeling in the ruins to manually care for him.

---

Though she had been home for nearly an hour, had been out of the rubble for longer, she still wore the Valkyrie suit breastplate. Angela’s wings and halo, more of a hindrance than anything within the carrier's tight quarters, had long since been stripped away. After that, there had been no time – and no reason – to remove the breastplate. After clearing the site of all injured, her team had rushed to their carrier - one of their own was severely injured, far worse than what Angela could repair manually in the field. She’d kept him alive on the carrier and had followed him all the way into the operating room to finish the job. About three-quarters of the way through the surgery, her Valkyrie suit had powered down; the wave of agony had caused her hands to momentarily pause, but before anyone could notice or comment, she had shoved it away. There would be time for that later, once her agent wasn’t bleeding out. Now, her agent was resting in a private room; she had left the operating room with murmured excuses of changing and making her reports. Then, Angela went to her office, not allowing a single sign of her pain to show on her face or in her stride. It was only once she was hidden away inside, door locked behind her, that Angela allowed herself to let down her protective walls. It was stupid; she knew that. All she had to do was say something to one of her staff and they would have helped her - but she loathed appearing weak, even after all these years. She knew there was no reason for it, knew no one would think poorly of her, and yet she had hidden herself away anyway. Angela stripped off the breastplate with shaking hands before setting it aside on her couch, not bothering to walk the additional ten feet to its normal stand. Her boots were kicked off, landing haphazardly on the surrounding floor. Then, she was contorting herself as she reached for the zipper on the catsuit; it hurt, making her gasp and bringing tears to her eyes, but she managed it. Panting, she stripped it off wearily before looking herself over. There were no lacerations or gashes, which she already knew. Instead, she found herself mottled with purple-black bruises; from what Angela could tell, it was worse on her back - but she had no mirror, so it was hard to compare the bruising on her front to what was on her back. Later, once the infirmary was - mostly - empty and no one else was around, she would sneak - as if she weren’t the Director or the one who had developed it, personally - a healing stream away to take care of herself. It would only be a few hours; she could manage a few bruises that long. Angela had just finished pulling a set of scrubs - she always had an extra set in her office, just in case - when the doorknob rattled. “Angela?” Her heart tripped; she hadn’t expected to see him today. He was supposed to be in Rome like he usually was. Angela briefly considered pretending she wasn’t in her office, that she was somewhere else in the building - but she already didn’t get to see him as often as she’d like. As she made her way back across the office, she shored up her walls to hide her pain. “Gabriel,” Angela greeted warmly as she opened the door. “I heard about the explosion,” he said, brushing against her as he made his way inside the office. “Are you alright?” Angela shut the door, hiding them away from prying eyes, before turning to look up at him. “Of course I am,” Angela assured him; a few bruises weren’t life-threatening, after all. She knew that he would disagree with her assessment - but he was rather biased when it came to her health. Angela was certain he would consider a paper cut to be too much injury for her; the mottled black spread across her back would definitely worry him, even if there was no reason for his concern. Gabriel closed the distance between them then, wrapping her in a warm embrace that normally was comforting but currently was agonizing. Angela forced herself to relax into him anyway, forced her arms not to tremble as they lifted to wrap around his waist - but he must have noticed something was amiss, because he pulled back to look down at her. “What’s wrong?” Angela shook her head, frowning slightly when the motion made her dizzy. “I am just sore, that’s all.” It wasn’t a lie; her body ached fiercely, but it was nothing to be concerned about - though the dizziness wasn’t the greatest of signs. “Angela,” he rumbled, clearly not believing her, “you’re hurt, aren’t you?” She worried her lip and glanced down with a resigned nod. “Let me see.” Angela hesitated; even with him - especially with him - she wanted to appear strong, capable. He already worried enough about her as it was. Sighing, Angela reached for the hem of her top. Her body rebelled, aching and angry, as she moved to pull it up for him to see the bruising. Gabriel clearly noticed the pain she was in, because before she’d even managed to get it halfway up, his hands were there and taking over for her. Then she was standing there, stripped to the waist aside from her bra, arms crossed and face downcast as he looked her over. “Angela,” he sighed, disappointment and worry coloring his voice; despite the pain, her shoulders hunched and she ducked her head. Angela hated that she had let him down again. He moved, stepping around her to look at her back; his sharp intake of breath confirmed that it was worse there than on her front. “This isn’t - Angela, this isn’t okay.” He wasn’t shouting at her, but the words echoed in her ears as if he had. She jumped, wincing, as he lightly touched her back; the touch disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and then he was standing in front of her again. Angela didn’t need to look up to know that Gabriel was frowning down at her, worry in his eyes as he tried to figure out what to do with her, again. “I was going to take care of it in a few hours,” she murmured to the floor. “I didn’t want to worry you.” She hadn’t expected him to be here to worry about her. Angela could have easily hidden this from him over their communicators, and no one else would have gotten close enough to notice her discomfort. “I know,” Gabriel sighed. And he did know - she had practically bared her soul to him, after all. He knew her flaws and had seen all of her ugly, weak parts and still found her worthy of his attention. Even if she did make him worry like he was now. “Come on; let’s get you dressed, and we’ll take care of it.” She didn’t particularly want to do that - but Angela knew that he would just carry her to the infirmary if she refused. Instead, she allowed him to help her back into her shirt and followed him out of the office. In the hall, she forced herself to walk normally again - no one, except perhaps Gabriel, would notice there was anything amiss. Halfway to the infirmary, she paused, one hand grabbing at his bicep as she steadied herself. “Angela?” Gabriel’s voice echoed strangely in her ears again, and she closed herself as her vision swam. Angela took a deep breath and opened her eyes, releasing his arm. “Sorry. I am alright.” It was obvious to her that he was completely unconvinced, but he didn’t press the issue; instead, he kept pace next to her as they went to the infirmary. Once inside, he called Gloria - the only doctor whose name he knew beside Angela’s - as he bullied Angela onto one of the triage beds. “She’s hurt,” Gabriel explained to the redheaded doctor. “I’d appreciate it if you’d look her over.” Gloria nodded before shooing him away and pulling the curtains closed. Once Angela was stripped again, Gloria tsk’d. “You should have said something, doctor.” Gloria chided. “I will be right back with the healing stream, and then you will be as good as new.”

---

It was almost thirty minutes later when she walked out of the infirmary, feeling a million times better. That it had taken so long meant that the damage had been worse than some bruising - which Gabriel had been quick to point out as they entered the elevator that would take them up to her rooms. “It was foolish, I know.” Angela agreed, though they both knew it wouldn’t change how she would act in the future. Her pain was secondary compared to everything else - to include her pride. If she wasn’t so worried about appearances, about being strong, she wouldn’t have left her wounds untended. “Reckless, you mean.” Gabriel corrected as they stepped out of the elevator. It wasn’t long before they were in her rooms and his arms were around her, holding her tightly as he pressed his face into her hair. “I wish you would take better care of yourself, cariño.” He murmured. “You’re not invincible, even if that suit of yours makes you feel that way.” Angela pressed herself against him, apologizing wordlessly because she couldn’t say the words aloud; apologizing for something she would continue to do in the future felt too much like a lie. “I will try to do better,” Angela said instead, which really meant nothing at all and they both knew it – but it was the best she could offer. She would continue to throw herself into harm's way, to ignore her wounds, because that was who she was and what she did. Angela was nothing if not reckless when it came to the safety and protection of their agents. He sighed, a big heaving motion that told her he was unhappy but resigned to the fact that there was nothing to be done about it; they had gone through this song and dance far too many times, after all. Instead, he pulled back to look down at her; in his eyes, she could see his worry and love - but no disappointment, for which she was grateful. The worry she could handle, but his disappointment was always crushing. Then, his hand was cupping her chin, tilting her head back as he captured her lips with his own - and then there was no need for words at all.

I'm trying out this prompt thing. I know, I know, I should be working on Forged - it'll be done [eventually] but my brain just doesn't want to write it.

"I wish you'd told me it had gotten this bad."

"I wish you'd told me it had gotten this bad," Ruby said softly, resting her head on Amethyst's shoulder, arms around her torso.

"I- I'm fine," Amethyst replied, but she was fooling no one with her puffy red eyes and hoarse voice.

"No, you're not." Ruby sighed, pressing her forehead against the other girl. "Please, just tell me what I can do to help."

There was a long moment of silence before Amethyst gave a small shrug. "I don't know," she whispered brokenly. "Please, just stay with me?"

"Always," Ruby answered, pressing as close as she could, determined to not let go of Amethyst for as long as she could.

Breaking [My Heart]: Act VI Yielding

“There's nothing simple when it comes to you and I, Always something in this everchanging life” - Everchanging [Rise Against] Winston has issued the recall towards rebuilding Overwatch. Angela - formerly known as “Mercy” - is captured by Talon, who are searching for any information that can stop the rise before it begins.

AO3 | FF.net | Works | Pandora Playlist

Trigger Warnings & General Statements This is a dark torture story. As such, there's going to be bad things happening - for the sake of not spoiling, I will not tag what, exactly will be appearing at any time. While I don't think any of the scenes are terribly graphic in nature, I do want to stress that the scenes are present and aren't for everyone. I did try to make the reactions and trauma realistic, following both real-world medicine / research and in-game universe canon (such as Angela's nanotechnology). There will be multiple POVs per chapter - two sets for both Angela and Reaper as well as a fifth from an additional character. Please, read at your own risk - and enjoy!

Here’s my chance for a new beginning I saved the best for a better ending And in the end I’ll make it up to you, you’ll see You’ll get the very best of me - One Day Too Late [Skillet]

He’d watched Baptiste go with some trepidation. What if he called Talon and told them where they were? Sure, they hadn’t been greeted by a strike team when he’d walked through the door, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be one sent now. But the only choices had been to send Baptiste out for the necessary supplies or go himself - and he was hesitant to leave Angela without protection, especially with someone he didn’t trust. He barely trusted Sombra, because he knew that she had her own agenda. Each person she had used to get them here was just another person that could sell them out. There were too many moving pieces that left her vulnerable. There were plenty of people - on both sides of the fence - that would love to get their hands on Angela as she was now. With that in mind, he set about securing the apartment as best as possible. He pulled the curtains closed - and then, for good measure, pinned them into place with some needles pilfered from Baptiste’s bag. It wouldn’t help against infrared sights like Widowmaker had, but it couldn’t hurt. Gabriel wanted to move the bed away from the window, make shooting Angela even more of an impossibility, but it just wasn’t possible. Perhaps he and Baptiste would be able to manage it once she was more aware. He pulled up a chair, placing it between Angela and the window so that - should there be a shot - he or Baptiste would, hopefully, take the bullet for her. Because of the angle it sat at, it was impossible to see into the next room when seated; he didn’t like that, either, but there was only so much he could do. After moving quickly through the rest of the small apartment, tugging the curtains closed as he had in the bedroom and hiding away various sharp objects, he returned into the bedroom and gently closed the door behind him. He stalked around the bed to settle on the chair, pulling out one of his shotguns and laying it on the nightstand - as far from Angela as he could - for easier access. Then he had nothing left to do but wait. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, would come first: Baptiste’s return or Angela’s awakening.

---

Angela had fallen into an uneasy sleep about fifteen minutes ago, going from lazy stillness to nervous twitching. Gabriel had called out to her softly, but she hadn’t reacted to his voice or her name. He watched her as she shifted and breathed shakily, clearly having another of her terrible dreams. Angela was no stranger to bad dreams - he had woken her from, or had been woken by, those dreams once upon a time - so he wasn’t sure if waking her would be the right call. She needed the rest - meager as it was - so Gabriel decided to leave her alone. If she started crying or screaming, he could wake her then. Two knocks at the front door had him pushing to his feet. He was standing in the bedroom doorway, shotgun in hand, as the front door opened. He kept the gun at his side - it was probably Baptiste because what kind of strike team knocked? - as he tugged the bedroom door shut behind him. Indeed, it was Baptiste; the Haitian man raised his hands slightly as if to show he wasn’t a threat. Baptiste opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it; instead, he turned to go into the kitchen and put away whatever it was that he had bought. Gabriel planned to watch him - as if he hadn’t left Baptiste unsupervised while he was out getting supplies - but he heard Angela make a small noise of fear. He turned away from the medic to reenter the bedroom. “Angela?” Gabriel kept his voice soft; he wasn’t sure if she was still asleep or reacting to her new surroundings. Her body tensed at his voice; she was awake, then. Gabriel was grateful for the quiet return. Talking her down from the nightmares was more challenging when he probably was her nightmare. “It’s alright, Angela,” he murmured as she opened her eyes and stopped pretending that she was sleeping. Warily, she scanned the room. “You’re safe.” Gabriel could see the doubt in her eyes and couldn’t blame her; what reason had he given her to trust him? None. He’d betrayed her at every turn - how could she believe that he was telling the truth now? Her eyes hardened as she stared at his right hand; he’d forgotten that he was holding a gun. “It’s not - I’m not going to shoot you, Angela.” Gabriel knew Angela and her moods better than anyone, and not even he could determine what flashed across her face. He could, however, tell what it wasn’t: relief. In the short time he had left Talon base for that failed mission in Russia, she had lost her fire. He had watched the recording of her ‘execution’; he’d seen the relief at the threat of the gun and the sheer despair when it was a lie. It was what kept him from setting the gun anywhere within her reach. Gabriel wasn’t sure if she’d use it against him or herself - or both. He’d gamble with his life, but he was done gambling with hers. Instead, he holstered it. He watched her face carefully, but Angela was no longer looking at him. She was looking around, searching the walls for whatever it was that helped her mind escape and generally doing anything to keep her eyes from landing on his form. He could tell, though, by the rigid way she held herself and the tightness in her eyes, that Angela was very aware of him. She would react to any movement, no matter how small. Baptiste knocked on the door frame, drawing Angela’s panicked attention as the medic paused just outside the room. He saw the recognition that changed to pain - betrayal - in her eyes as she took in the Haitian man, and then she was walled away again as she turned away to stare at the ceiling. Gabriel hadn’t realized Angela would know the man Sombra had sent. That new knowledge had him stalking across the room, forcing himself to ignore the way she flinched away and turn his back on her for a brief moment. “She knows you?” He whispered furiously, angling himself again so that he could watch her. Now that she was free, unbound, he worried about what she might do to herself. “We worked together once, about a year ago,” Baptiste replied, leaning against the door with his arms crossed as he kept his eyes fixed on him; Gabriel could understand his wariness. The Reaper was the biggest threat in the room. “Why?” The flippant tone made Gabriel want to throttle him. “Why?” Was he an idiot? “Look at her,” he ordered, one hand flying up to point in Angela’s direction. The woman flinched away - she was watching them, even when she didn’t appear to be. Baptiste frowned as he took in the broken woman again; her whole body radiated tension as she pointedly stared at the ceiling. When she thought they weren’t looking, she was stealing glances from her peripherals. Angela was still tense, trembling intermittently from the intensity, fists balled tightly; Gabriel doubted she even realized she was clenching them. “She doesn’t believe that any of this is real.” Every time she flinched and looked at him with those wounded eyes, he was reminded of it. He was the Reaper - Talon - and was not to be - could not be - trusted. Gabriel doubted she would believe it even if Cole Cassidy were to stroll in here right now and carry her away to whatever safe haven Overwatch had built. “She thinks you’re working with Talon.” It might be a misunderstanding, but right now, any misstep would further injure her. He was seething inside; she was hurt again after he had sworn she wouldn’t be. Baptiste sighed, deflating. He hadn’t been able to see what Angela was like when she was coherent - or, at least, whatever passed for coherency for her these days. “You need to get her help.” His cheerful attitude was gone, his face grave as he turned back to Gabriel. “Not this half-assed shit: real help.” Gabriel ground his teeth; what did this man think he was doing? It wasn’t like he had a lot of time - or many options. “I’m working on it.” The response was tight. If he could, he would just take her in to see a doctor. Gabriel wasn’t sure when it would ever be safe enough for her to be seen in such a manner, now that Talon had gotten its hooks in her. He wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel safe enough to leave whatever Watchpoint he’d end up delivering her to. Baptiste turned away without speaking. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he was going for, but he wasn’t going to leave Angela alone to find out. Instead, Gabriel strode back around the bed to sit in the chair at her side and pretended that she didn’t try to scoot away from him once he settled. Pretended he hadn’t heard the low, pained noise she had made when the movement hurt something - probably her knee. Pretended that she wasn’t tearing his heart out with every look and flinch.

---

Gabriel wished that he could call Sombra; that would make contacting Overwatch so much easier. Instead, he had to try and hunt them down the old fashioned way. That wasn’t - usually - a problem, but he usually didn’t have a half-dead doctor he was trying to hide. Normally he wasn’t on the run from Talon, either. If Overwatch had stayed at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, his life would have been easier - but then Talon’s task would have been, too. Now he was left trying to figure out what Watchpoint Winston might have chosen. He doubted they had moved too far, so he was pretty sure they were still somewhere in the European continent. That was still a good number of Watchpoints to look into - and all of them were on a completely different continent from him. Gabriel had briefly entertained the thought that they might create a new base, one that no one - not the UN, not the various enemies of Overwatch - knew about, but he had tossed the idea aside. The creation of a new base would take up time and resources that they just didn’t have now, especially once he considered how active many former members - like Reinhardt and Tracer - were in the search for Angela. There was the tip line that Tracer had spouted on behalf of the UN, but he was hesitant to use such a public method to reach out. There was no guarantee he would get someone he trusted to appear - and Gabriel wasn’t giving Angela to anyone he didn’t trust. Not even to Winston, though he knew Angela trusted the monkey and that she would be perfectly safe in his care. Gabriel didn’t trust it - never had and, at this point, never would - no matter how much Angela did. It had been hard enough to leave Angela in Baptiste’s care. Sombra had assured him that Baptiste only had Angela’s best interests at heart - had, in fact, tried to warn Angela that Talon was coming for her, though she had left out the part where they knew each other - but that didn’t mean Gabriel trusted him. Still, perhaps Angela would recover better without Gabriel - the Reaper - looming over her bedside. Hopefully, Angela would move past what appeared to be a betrayal by yet another person from her past. Hopefully, their shared history was positive enough to let her trust Baptiste in a way she no longer could trust Gabriel. He hated that he had broken that trust. He couldn’t change the past, though. He couldn’t take back the hateful things he did or said; all he could do now was try to make it better. That was why he was prowling in the dark, forgotten areas of the city. Even the precious “City of Harmony” couldn’t avoid crime; it was part of human nature. Instead, they pretended those places didn’t exist because they didn’t fit in the picture-perfect world they had created. Oh, the Reaper was sure that authorities tried to flush out these hot spots, but they would keep popping up. Eventually, they would give up, instead settling for knowing where the crime would be instead of trying to smother it, just like every other city in the world. Gabriel was hoping to find one of his contacts from his Blackwatch days. This contact was a shared one between many agents; Gabriel was sure that Cassidy had been one of the agents who used this particular man. If Cassidy was searching for Angela - and Gabriel knew he would be, even if he couldn’t be public about it - he’d have tapped any and all sources for help. Even if it were a tool he’d thought he’d thrown away long ago when he had left Blackwatch. Gabriel wouldn’t pass a message - no, that was too dangerous - but he might be able to get a location on the cowboy. All that would be left after that was contact and delivery; then Angela could, hopefully, be left in some semblance of peace.

Her eyes opened to blinding white lights. She became aware of her arms, straining at the shoulders from where she sagged against the chains that held her up; they shook with relief when she managed to brace her right leg on the slippery floor. Angela was dripping wet; they had just thrown the icy water over her, shocking her awake. Angela had known she would be back here. An escape had been too good to be true; Gabriel was dead and the Reaper had tricked her in such a vile way. Fingers dug into her cheeks painfully, forcing her head backward until her neck ached. “Didn’t I tell you, princess?” The Speaker was right in front of her, just out of sight due to the lights as he sneered. “We won’t let you go that easily.” He laughed, finding pleasure in her despair. Before he stopped, the strap with its many sharp edges cleaved into her back, tearing her back away one jagged gash at a time. Angela bit down on her lip, swallowing down a scream, as it all began again. She had to hold out and survive the pain and the overwhelming tide of despair. Questions. Pain. Silence. Drowning. Screaming. It felt like they had her for hours, the questions echoing and repeating around her as they hurt her. She hadn’t been able to keep back her sounds of pain, starting as whimpers and ending with throat-burning screams. It had to end soon, right? They always stopped, always gave her a short respite to recover and gather the ragged bits of herself back together. Shaking. She was shaking, a different voice calling over the Speaker. Angela blinked in confusion; no one but the Speaker talked to her during these sessions. When her eyes opened again, the blinding light and chains were gone. She was no longer hanging from chains but lying on something soft. Angela flinched back from the familiar man hovering over her, concerned as he looked down at her. Angela didn’t know how to handle such gentle emotions any longer - she didn’t believe in them enough to trust them after everything she had been through - so Angela turned her head slightly so she could stare at a wall instead. It wasn’t the same white wall she had become accustomed to. It was a beige color, textured instead of smooth concrete. “Dr. Ziegler?” Baptiste’s voice was hesitant as he removed his hand from her shoulder slowly; Angela hadn’t even realized he was touching her until the hand was removed - and wasn’t that foolish? He’d been shaking her, so of course he was touching her. She kept her eyes away from his form and instead swept them across the room, searching as she always did. Her friends had returned on the day of her ‘escape’ when the Reaper had been cleaning her body with painful gentleness. Angela vaguely remembered Baptiste. They had worked together some time ago, and he had seemed like a good man. But that he was here, in this room with her, meant that he couldn’t be trusted. This was a trap, a trick to get her to let her guard down and betray her friends - her true friends, not this one-time ally from some far off place and time. “Dr. Ziegler?” The man asked again. Angela glanced up towards him, body tensed and ready for the pain that had become expected. Her wary eyes met his concerned ones for a brief moment before glancing away again. Angela refused to speak because she knew that if she did, she might never stop. Instead, she looked around her new prison. It was a bedroom, she realized finally. She couldn’t see much from her prone position, but there were doorways and a small table - nightstand - next to the bed she laid in. The softness was alien and almost unbearable after so many days - weeks? Months? - sleeping on cold concrete or suspended by chains. “You may not remember me, doctor,” Baptiste’s voice was cheery, not at all deterred by her silence. Angela couldn’t tell if it was forced or real. “We worked together in Venezuela a year or so ago. My name is Baptiste.” He paused there, giving her time to respond if she so chose - which she did not. Once it was obvious she was planning to remain silent, Baptiste continued. “You’ve been sleeping a while, Dr. Ziegler. I’m sure you’re hungry.” At the reminder, her stomach suddenly made itself very known. Yes, she was hungry - not that she would admit it aloud. “If you’ll just wait right here, I’ll get that fixed right up. Sound good?” As if she were in any position to leave this bed. After another long moment of silence, Baptiste nodded once and left the room. Angela pressed her arms down against the mattress in an attempt to sit upright. Her body’s weakness and the pliable mattress made the attempt impossible. She wasn’t sure what she had expected; she had barely been capable of pushing herself off the hardened concrete to eat the last time they had fed her. When she finally lay still again, she was panting and shaking from the exertion. She had jostled her knee, which was now throbbing and pulsing in reprimand for her movements. But, Angela had discovered that she wasn’t restrained - except, of course, by her weak body. Her trembling hands explored the bed, marveling at the soft cloth and smooth sheets, before sliding to her body. There was some cloth covering her - a brief glance down showed some sort of green fabric. Angela marveled at that, too. It had been a long time since she had been clothed, since her naked body hadn’t been on display for everyone to see. Her fingers were playing with one of the buttons when Baptiste walked back in with a small tray. He placed the tray on a second table to her right, one that she hadn’t noticed when she was avoiding looking at him. “Now, unless you want to wear your food, you’re going to have to be sitting up.” Angela frowned; she had already tried that, which meant he would have to touch her again. As he reached out, Angela tensed. When his hands grabbed her with a careful, practiced touch, she began shaking, forcing him to pause. “It’s alright, doctor,” he soothed as he began lifting her despite her tension. “Just bear with me a little bit.” Angela stared past Baptiste towards the ceiling - and then the wall, once he had maneuvered her upright. “There we go!” Baptiste released her slowly, as if she would fall over without his support. Angela was leaning heavily against the pillows that he had propped behind her, so she was in no danger of falling. Once he was satisfied, he settled in a chair pulled up close to her bedside and grabbed a bowl from the tray he had brought in. “Now, I know, this isn’t exactly how you want to do this,” Baptiste said, scooping some broth up with a spoon and holding it up towards her face. “In a few days, you’ll be strong enough to do it yourself.” Angela didn’t want to eat, despite her hunger and weakness. Eating would prolong her existence and keep her in their clutches that much longer. But she knew what the consequences of not eating would be. Rough hands forcing her mouth open until her jaws creaked, food stuffed down her throat until she thought she would suffocate as she swallowed and swallowed to try and breathe. No, she didn’t want that. Resigned, she ate the broth he offered. The warmth soothed her throat - which she hadn’t even realized was sore - and pooled in her stomach comfortably. It tasted bitter, though; despite herself, she recoiled and glanced up at him in horror. What was in that liquid? Something to help calm her, to make her more pliable for their questions? He looked surprised, before realization crossed his face. “You probably can taste the supplements I added,” Baptiste explained hurriedly. “It’s nothing bad; just some extra protein and vitamins to help you recover.” He muttered something about the taste under his breath, but it was low enough that she didn’t catch all of it. “Seriously, look,” Baptiste ate a spoonful of the broth himself, as if to prove its safety; Angela knew that one spoonful was nothing compared to an entire bowl, but what could she do? Resigned, she went through the motions of eating as he fed her slowly - far slower than she was used to. Each time, the bitterness struck her and her anxiety spiked – but she couldn’t tell what the drug was doing to her. Perhaps he had been telling the truth, though Angela highly doubted it. Baptiste chattered brightly at her as she ate, but she wasn’t listening. Refused to listen, because Angela recognized it for the trap that it was. They had tried to break her with pain and death, but they had failed. Now, they were trying to break her with kindness and gentle hands. Angela wouldn’t allow that to happen; she had been through far too much to fail now. He was trying to befriend her, to get behind her walls to crack her open and reveal her secrets. Only one person had ever been capable of doing that - and he was dead, even though his body still roamed the Earth. Angela was surprised he wasn’t here, looming in a corner or hovering over her, trying to convince her that he was still Gabriel and not the Reaper. He’d sat with her the last time she’d woken, but, unlike Baptiste, he had barely spoken to her. He’d just sat there, brooding while she pretended he didn’t exist. She had found Ana then, perched on the dresser that was barely in her line of sight. Angela had let Ana soothe her until she could fall into an uneasy sleep - which Baptiste had helpfully woken her from. “Alright, all done.” Baptiste finally declared, setting the spoon and bowl back onto the tray. Angela’s hunger wasn’t satisfied, but that wasn’t unusual. Just like pain, hunger had become a constant companion to her these days. “Now.” Angela glanced towards him briefly - he was leaning forward slightly, looking a little uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I check your wounds and change your bandages?” She stiffened, eyes darting away to sweep the room again. No one was here - at least, not now. Perhaps they would arrive soon. “You’ve got some bad cuts there, doctor.” Baptiste continued carefully, when it was clear she wasn’t going to speak - or give any kind of permission at all. At least he was keeping his hands to himself while he was trying to convince her. “I just want to make sure they don’t get infected.” Infection was the least of her worries; in fact, if she were lucky - which she didn’t seem to be - an infection would kill her. Baptiste sighed. “Alright. It can wait a little while - but we have to check them soon.” Angela was surprised at the capitulation. She had expected him to press the matter - but that wasn’t how this worked, she realized. They wanted her comfortable, and forcing her into doing something wouldn’t meet that goal. That was why they’d brought in a familiar face to care for her, after all. They wanted her to let her guard down so that they could wean the information they wanted from her. He offered her the water, which she drank just as mechanically as she had the broth. Then, he chattered at her again, apparently unable to stand the silence. Angela tuned him out to the best of her ability as she looked around the room again. Still no one - not her friends nor the Reaper. Angela supposed the latter was a small mercy.

---

After each meal, Baptiste asked for her permission to look at her wounds. Finally, after her fourth meal – oatmeal, this time – he had pressed the matter. “I know it’s uncomfortable, Doctor,” Baptiste had said, carefully trying to pull the blanket away from her tight grip, “but your injuries need tending.” As a doctor, she knew that he was right. As a person, she didn’t care. It had taken him the better part of fifteen minutes to persuade her to let him pull away the blanket. He didn’t attempt to reach for her dress, not yet; instead, he turned his attention to her legs. Aside from the squares of gauze taped carefully to her skin, Angela’s legs were bare. Her eyes immediately fell on her knee, still a terrible purple-black and swollen even after – well, she didn’t actually know how long it had been since the Reaper had pulled her down from the chains. Baptiste noticed her attention and pulled out something. “I’ve got a brace for that,” he offered, holding up the object. “I wasn’t sure if I should put it on, considering the other wounds.” The brace would wrap and hold her knee in place, but it would also press against the half-healed burns and gashes still present. If she weren’t the patient, Angela would have put the brace on; the knee would continue to be damaged for as long as it was left free and unsupported. But, she was the patient – and she desperately wanted to die. Angela wouldn’t give him any advice towards her care, not even in this small thing that would only give her more comfort. If she broke her silence, she would be tempted again – and then they would have her. Instead, she ignored his unspoken question and let her gaze wander to the left, away from the man and his expectant gaze. Angela heard him sigh and set the brace down. She ignored the careful fingers that pulled the tape from her skin. Ignored the cool spread of ointment and the gentle, painful press where he held the gauze in place as he secured it. Once her legs were done, she tensed. Though Angela wanted to die – and, therefore, did not want medical attention – she especially didn’t want to be naked again. The dress was the only protection she had, besides her silence. It was flimsy and frail, but it was hers. Still, he persisted until the dress was unbuttoned and her bandages were bared. Angela glanced down at herself briefly – her broken skin was hidden from her by layers of gauze – before her gaze found the wall again. As Baptiste cut the gauze away, her attention was drawn towards the door; it had been left open by the man when he’d brought in her meal. Low voices, barely loud enough for Angela to hear, trickled into the room. “–ch longer—going to take?” Angela went cold. She had known that this was too good to be true. She had been trembling under Baptiste’s touch, but now she was shaking in pure fear. Until the day she died – which, hopefully, would be very soon – Angela would recognize the Speaker’s voice. “You—a month,” the Reaper growled back quietly. “Doctor?” Baptiste’s concerned voice drowned out whatever else the Reaper said to the Speaker. She couldn’t look away from the door, couldn’t stop straining to hear the words that would condemn her. She was panting heavily, eyes wide with terror as she cowered back from the door, even though it brought her closer to Baptiste. “–ot gonna–” The Speaker said, but Baptiste spoke over them again. “What is it?” He rose from his seat, the movement momentarily distracting Angela from the door and the monsters in the other room. Baptiste left everything as it was – gauze and tools laid about, her bandages partially cut away – as he grabbed a gun; she hadn’t noticed it since it had been propped up against the far side of the nightstand. Competent hands lifted the weapon as he stalked around the bed to investigate the other room. Angela wasn’t fooled; he was in on this charade. He was just acting for her benefit, to cover up the fact that this was a trick. She doubted that she was expected to hear the voices; they had been quiet and Baptiste had been distracting her with the stress of a bandage change. Her ears still strained to hear the words, but she couldn’t make any out. She could hear the voices of the Speaker and the Reaper, but their words were no longer intelligible between the roaring in her ears and their volume. Baptiste glanced into the other room cautiously before carefully exiting to ‘look’ more thoroughly. Angela looked away again; she couldn’t hear the words and she didn’t want to watch him come back in with his lies. Angela’s eyes cut across the bed towards the right side of the room – where Baptiste had just been sitting – and paused, fixated on the sheets next to her leg. He had left all of his supplies scattered around, including the bandage scissors he had been using to remove the gauze around her chest. Angela reached out for the tool with shaking fingers that steadied once she had it in hand. Relief chased away her terror, but she knew that she didn’t have a lot of time before Baptiste returned. Angela barely hesitated – she would not go back to the Speaker, to his chains and the pain. She knew that she would have to cut deep; that if she didn’t, either her nanites or Baptiste would put her back together more quickly than she could bleed out. With a steadying breath, she pressed the sharp edge of the scissors against her left forearm near her elbow before dragging down towards her wrist. It stung, but it was nothing compared to the pain she had experienced – and the pain she was trying to avoid. Switching the blade to her left hand was more of a challenge; everything was suddenly more messy, now that her blood was flowing freely. She should have used her left hand first; it was her least dominant that was now slick with blood and shaking again. “There’s nothing ou—Doctor!“ Baptiste stepped through the door as she was dragging a line through her right arm; he was across the room and yanking the scissors from her grip before she could get more than halfway down her right forearm. Swearing up a storm, he used one hand to clamp down on her left arm in an attempt to stop as much of the blood flow as possible, as his other scrambled to grab some of the loose gauze. Angela tried to struggle out from under his grip; the blood that was absolutely everywhere helped in that regard, and she managed to free her arm for a short moment – then he was upon her again. “Stay still,” Baptiste shouted, but she ignored the order and just squirmed more. Angela was surprised he didn’t call for help from the other room – or that someone didn’t rush in to try to help him. Angela knew there were at least two men out there; one was the Reaper, who could come in without ‘surprising’ her, because she’d seen him here before. In response to her squirming and attempts to escape his grasp, Baptiste moved until he was over her on the bed, pinning her down with his body weight as he focused on her arms. The positioning made her nauseous with terror, her body going cold – but perhaps that was from the blood loss. “No,” Angela whimpered plaintively as he began winding the gauze around her left forearm tightly – too tight, the medical professional in her noted but, right now, she doubted he cared. Angela twisted, trying to throw him off balance or drag herself out from underneath him. She was too weak for it to be more than a slight annoyance, and he ignored her struggles as he wrapped the gauze haphazardly around her arm. As she knew all too well, it didn’t have to look pretty to get the job done. Angela panted, terrified; though she knew it was pointless, she continued to try and escape – even as he tied off the bandage on her left arm. Already, she could see the faint pink tint staining the white gauze, but she knew that this was merely a stopgap; he had to slow her bleeding before he could properly stitch her back up. She knew she wasn’t weak enough, hadn’t bled enough, to die – but she was too weak to stop him. Tears welled; Baptiste had won. She wouldn’t get another chance – she had been lucky to get this chance. Angela was going to go back to that room, the room she desperately wanted to avoid. Her right arm went faster than the left, considering the gash was smaller than the other. He tied that off, too, before glancing around the room. Angela knew he was looking for his medical kit, which was just out of reach of the bed – on purpose, so that Angela couldn’t get her hands on anything like the bandage scissors he’d carelessly left on the bed. That forced him to leave the bed, leaving her free to writhe away and try to rip the bandages off. She had nearly thrown herself off the left side of the bed when his hand clamped down on her right arm and dragged her back. The action also pulled her hand away from the bandages, though she had managed to loosen the knot he’d quickly tied. As he turned back to his kit for a moment, her fingers lifted to yank at the knot again and began unwinding the bandages. She had nearly gotten all of them off when he clamped down on her again – this time, not to stop her actions, but to hold her still so he could inject her with something. “I’m sorry, Doctor.” His voice was distant and fuzzy as he yanked her right hand away and began undoing all her work as quickly as possible. “You left me no choice.” Her head was swimming, and she couldn’t focus – what had he given her? Hopefully, he’d given her too much, considering her malnutrition, wounds, and blood loss; if he did, she’d never wake up. Her eyes fluttered closed as he turned away once more, her arms securely wrapped in the protective gauze.

Gabriel froze when he walked into the bedroom, taking in the bloody tableau. The blankets were thrown on the floor carelessly, and sheets were stained with red. Small droplets of blood had splattered on the headboard as well as the carpet close to the bed. Angela’s arms, which had been bare when he left this morning, were now wrapped heavily with gauze. A noise pulled Gabriel’s attention away from Angela to look over at the medic. He was setting down his weapon – an impressive looking assault rifle that had, apparently, been modified for healing, though he hadn’t used any of it in this room – against the nightstand. Then, he leaned back in the chair, looking exhausted; through the whole thing, Baptiste never took his eyes off of the doctor. “What happened?” Gabriel demanded, snarling. He knew he should keep his voice down – or at least moderate it to be less vicious – for Angela’s sake, but it was hard when faced with this. “She got my scissors,” Baptiste admitted, not a single trace of his typical humor. Gabriel turned his gaze back to Angela, horrified; she was breathing steadily and – for all appearances – seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Angela didn’t sleep peacefully – not even when she was so exhausted that she forgot her nightmares in the morning. Gabriel knew that she always twitched and shifted, murmuring softly or crying out; the bedding would often be twisted when they woke, and it wasn’t from any fun nighttime activity. No, her sleeping this way was unnatural, especially after her torture from the last month. “How did you let that happen?” Gabriel growled, forcing himself to remain in the doorway. If he moved closer, he would probably rip out Baptiste’s throat – and he still needed the medic. “I managed to convince – I think, or maybe she gave up? Anyways, – her to let me change her bandages. I did her legs and was just beginning to remove the gauze around her torso when she made this quiet noise.” Baptiste paused there, appearing to be at a loss for words; Gabriel forced himself to look at the medic, because to continue looking at the bandages was infuriating him. “It made my hair stand on end, man; I couldn’t help but look up.” He rubbed at his arms absently. “She’s so amped, you know? Nervous. Always looking around, always noticing things even if she wasn’t looking.” Gabriel did know; she was hypervigilant. It wasn’t unexpected, considering everything she’d been through. “So, when I saw her staring at the door, looking so scared, I thought maybe she’d heard something I didn’t.” Baptiste gestured at his rifle. “I went to investigate, make sure we weren’t under attack. I didn’t find anyone, so I came back to finish up with her.” Baptiste took a heavy breath. “I wasn’t gone for more than two minutes, I swear.” A lot could happen in two minutes, as both men were aware. “I came back and she was cutting at one of her arms; I took the scissors away and tried to stop the bleeding.” Baptiste looked nauseous as he finally lifted his gaze from the doctor to look at the Reaper. “She fought me hard; I’ve never seen anyone so desperate to die.” His voice was bleak, face ashen. “I had to pin her down to get the first set of gauze on.” Gabriel was unsurprised at Angela’s determination, even though it saddened him. He’d seen it in the armory weeks ago, when she’d gone for the gun. That determination – despair – had only increased since then. “She nearly ripped the bandages off again before I sedated her,” Baptiste sighed. “I don’t know if the dosage was too much, considering everything. She’s been down for a few hours.” That explained the peaceful breathing, then. “I told you,” Gabriel rumbled into the silence. “I told you she thought this was a trick. I warned you that she was suicidal.” He had trusted this man with her safety – and that trust had been betrayed. The Reaper wanted to paint the walls red with Baptiste’s blood, but he couldn’t. Gabriel needed Baptiste’s medical experience, even though he’d nearly allowed Angela to die on his watch. Besides, if the Reaper decorated the room with Baptiste’s insides, Angela would be even more terrified than she already was. “Get out,” Gabriel ordered, stepping further into the room so that Baptiste could comply. He needed a few hours without seeing the medic, a few hours to watch Angela breathe and assure himself that – despite yet another injury under his care – she was alive. A few hours to berate himself for being so careless. Baptiste scrambled to his feet, somehow managing to carry a tray laden with a bowl and his gun as he made for the door. Gabriel noticed that Baptiste kept as much distance as possible between the two of them as he moved. “Call me if you need anything,” Baptiste told him quietly as he strode through the door. Gabriel stalked over to close it, barely keeping himself from slamming it. Then he made his way around the bed to take the seat Baptiste had vacated to watch Angela breathe.

---

“Hello?” Gabriel was surprised that Cassidy didn’t sound more defensive – but, then again, he’d probably scattered his contact information as widely as possible to try and find Angela. It was likely the cowboy had received several calls from unknown numbers in the past month. “Is this Cole Cassidy?” Gabriel asked, though he already knew the answer. Over familiarity at this early stage would make the man far more defensive than Angela had time for. Gabriel’s eyes darted to the woman, who was still sleeping peacefully on the bloodstained sheets. He’d sent Baptiste out for new bedding - apparently, this apartment didn’t have any. Gabriel hadn’t wanted to call Cassidy tonight – he had planned to call tomorrow when he was able to slip away from the apartment and have the conversation where Angela couldn’t possibly overhear. However, her suicide attempt required things to move even faster. Even though Gabriel wasn’t in the mood to be speaking to anyone at the moment, it was necessary for Angela’s safety – so he would force himself to remain civil for a phone conversation. “Who’s askin’?” There was the defensive note; perhaps he hadn’t given his name out with his number. That would be a wise decision, considering the incredibly high bounty Cassidy still had on his head. Gabriel couldn’t give him his name – either name – at this point, however. To tell him he was the Reaper would destroy any possibility of a somewhat peaceful delivery of Angela. To tell him he was Gabriel Reyes, his presumed-dead and traitorous ex-Commander, wouldn’t go over any better. “I’m the person who’s rescued Dr. Ziegler,” he growled instead, voice quiet in deference to the sleeping blonde. Once they had hashed everything out – like where Cassidy could come to get her – he could give the cowboy his name. Cassidy inhaled sharply. “You’ve got her?” He repeated, doubtful. “Lemme talk to her.” Gabriel looked at the doctor again. Even if she were conscious, he couldn’t have let her speak to Cassidy. She would scream about it being a trap, to stay away – and, while he didn’t believe for a second that Cassidy would listen to her warning, it would make things far more complicated than necessary. “She’s sleeping right now,” Gabriel said instead. “I can send you a picture if you’d like.” He’d have to find a blanket that didn’t have bloodstains to cover up the mess, but he could make that happen. “Right. B’cause those can’t be faked or anythin’,” Cassidy drawled, ever the cynic. Still, Gabriel could hear the faint note of hope in his voice; Gabriel doubted they’d had any good leads on finding Angela. If they had known Talon had her, there would have been a lot more violence reported in the news. “Look,” Gabriel growled, his temper too frayed to properly deal with Cassidy’s caution. Still, he had to find the words to convince the cowboy that this wasn’t a prank or a trap. “Talon is chasing us. I don’t know how long we have until they find us.” That was the complete truth. He was already considering moving them out of Numbani; he had used his outfit and reputation to bully Cassidy’s number out of the criminals here, which would eventually find its way to Talon’s ears. “You got her away from Talon?” Gabriel rolled his eyes; seriously, he could tone down the incredulity. “Is this 76?” Gabriel wasn’t surprised that Jack was out looking for Angela. She was important to him – to them both – despite everything that had happened in the past. He was surprised that Jack had contacted Overwatch, regardless of what name he had given them. “No, this isn’t 76,” he admitted; lying about it would come out wherever they met, which would only lead to further hostilities. “How’d ya get this number?” Incredulity melted into harsh suspicion, which was more along the lines of what Gabriel had expected. “Why’d ya call me instead of the tip line?” All fair questions. “You spread the word underground that you’ve been looking for information on the doctor,” Gabriel told him; he’d barely had to mention the cowboy’s name to learn that. It was almost a joke among the gangsters – a notorious criminal with an enormous bounty was searching for the doctor? There’d been some talk about trapping the cowboy, luring him in so that they could get the prize; they’d even offered to split the money with him if he helped. Considering Gabriel needed Cassidy to remain a free man, he’d declined. “An’ ya didn’ call the tip line? I ain’t got the money for the reward they’re offerin’.” The reward was pretty substantial – nowhere near the amount of Cassidy’s bounty, but still a significant amount nonetheless. “I don’t want the money,” Gabriel growled, “I just want her safe.” Even if she trusted him – wasn’t broken in a way he couldn’t fix – Angela couldn’t stay with him. Talon was coming, and he was just one man. Gabriel couldn’t protect her in the way she needed if she remained. He’d kill her enemies from the shadows before they reached her, instead. “She trusts you,” he added. Gabriel paused, and then, “I trust you.” “You tru—who is this?” Cassidy thundered. Gabriel didn’t think the cowboy believed he had Angela; without being allowed to speak and Cassidy not accepting a photograph, it would be hard to convince the cynical cowboy. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Gabriel was stalling; the Reaper was disgusted with his cowardice. Just say it and get it over with. “Try me,” the cowboy’s voice was hard. “You know me by two different names,” Gabriel started, because he’d have to give both names before the conversation was over. The first name would be the one that proved his honesty. The second name would, hopefully, keep him from being shot on sight. “I’m Gabriel Reyes.” Cassidy made a disbelieving noise. “Reyes is dead.” The words were a snarl, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. “And if he weren’t, I’d kill him myself.” Well. Cassidy hadn’t hung up yet, at least. “You call her Ange,” he said quietly. “She stayed with you for two nights straight when you lost your arm.” She had cried, too – but he was pretty sure the cowboy didn’t know that fact; the Angela from that time hadn’t been one for showing ‘weak’ emotions in public. Gabriel searched his memory for something that wouldn’t have been – relatively – widely known throughout the two organizations. Gabriel didn’t like to think of his time with the organizations he destroyed - didn’t like to remember the happiness he had tossed aside - so it took him a moment to find something to tell Cassidy. “One mission in Finland, you and I stayed up too late and drank too much tequila, which allowed our mark - Korhonen or Koskinen or some kind of nen, I don’t remember - to get away.” It had been stupid – they had been stupid – but it was something only they knew; Gabriel hadn’t even told Angela the real reason why he’d been delayed in coming home. Cassidy inhaled sharply, but Gabriel ignored it and continued. “Took three days to find him again, but we found him and brought him in.” “Th’hell you doin’ with Ange, Reyes?” Despite the anger, Gabriel was relieved; Cassidy believed him. “You shouldn’ even be alive, not after what you’ve done.” He couldn’t blame Cassidy for his ire – Gabriel deserved it and far more. “I told you: I rescued her.” Gabriel tactfully left out the part where he had been the one to kidnap her in the first place. That could come out later – when he wasn’t around to get shot, even if he deserved it. “She needs help that I can’t give her; they worked her over, and it isn’t pretty.” Angela shifted a little, drawing his attention. The sedative must be wearing off, finally. Hopefully, she would stay asleep until he finished this call – and there wasn’t a screaming nightmare to deal with. “They—she—shit!“ Gabriel didn’t believe that Cassidy thought Angela had been safe this whole time. Cassidy knew, better than most, what she had probably faced during her captivity. Still, the abstract was always more comfortable to handle than the reality; Gabriel had learned that the hard way – and the lesson had cost Angela far too much. “Angela will be better off in your – in Overwatch’s – care. I need to get her to you, now.” Gabriel explained quietly once the silence had dragged just a little too long. “I know you’re pissed at me, but don’t take it out on her.” The silence dragged on again as Cassidy wrestled with himself; Gabriel hoped he wouldn’t take too long, else Angela would awaken and he’d have to deal with her instead of the cowboy. “Damn you, Reyes,” Cassidy snarled after a moment. “Fine. I’ll get a ride; where’s the drop?” Gabriel gave him coordinates of an empty field a few miles outside of Numbani. It was utterly devoid of cover, which would hopefully prove that he – at least – wasn’t trying to trap the cowboy. “Tomorrow, then?” “Tomorrow,” Gabriel confirmed gravely as Angela began to murmur softly. Tomorrow, he would say goodbye again, this time for good. Tomorrow, he would never see her again – not even from a distance, because he doubted she would ever leave whatever base Cassidy took her to. “You said ya had two names, Reyes. What’s th’second one?” Gabriel tensed; he knew it had to come out – if Cassidy came to a field and the Reaper had Angela, they’d shoot first and ask questions later. He didn’t want to risk her taking another bullet for him. “The Reaper.” Gabriel disconnected before he could hear Cassidy’s response.

Angela jolted into sudden wakefulness when a hand closed on her shoulder. Wild-eyed, she turned to find the mask of the Reaper. “Easy, cariño. You’re alright.” Angela shivered and looked away; she knew that he meant the words to be comforting – that was the goal here, after all – but all it did was make her sad. He was pretending to be the man she had loved – still loved, if she was honest with herself. It was cruel, especially when she so badly wanted it to be true. Angela knew it was foolish, that hope which had flickered to life when he had pulled her down from the chains and carried her from that room of pain. But she had heard him with the Speaker. She had heard his betrayal, knew that it had all been a lie. It was that knowledge that gave her the strength to remain silent, to not engage with this shadow of a man. After a long moment, the Reaper sighed and released her shoulder. Despite herself, Angela glanced his way to see that he had leaned back in the chair to give her some space. “I’ve found Cassidy.” Angela froze, choking on a breath as her entire body seized with panic. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Talon wasn’t supposed to find any of them; she was supposed to protect them and keep them safe. It was all that was left, all she was good for – and even in that, she had failed. If they brought one of them here – she couldn’t even consider it. It would absolutely destroy her. Angela was barely holding it together now, after they had killed the parts of her that were strong – that were Dr. Ziegler, Mercy. Angela wouldn’t survive if they brought someone else in to torture in her stead. “Breathe, Angela.” Suddenly, the Reaper was in her face, fingers – not claws, she realized – gripping her shoulders as he tried to pull her back down. “No one is going to hurt him, cariño; everything is alright. Breathe.” Angela managed to suck in an unsteady breath, and he nodded encouragingly. “Yes, just like that.” Her body was still so tense that it hurt, but at least she wasn’t going to pass out. After a few breaths, the Reaper released her and leaned back again. “I won’t hurt him. No one will hurt him.” The Reaper repeated. “I’m taking you to him so that he can get you the help you need.” Angela would have scoffed, but she maintained her silence by biting her lip. ‘Help.’ As if he hadn’t been the one to put her in this position, to condemn her to be battered and broken. As if this ‘rescue’ was real. She had heard him. He didn’t want to get her help – he wanted to get her broken. They would capture Cassidy by using her as bait. They would put him before her, and then it would be his pain or her words. Would he understand if she – somehow – kept her silence? Would he forgive her? Would she forgive herself? “I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me, Angela.” The Reaper leaned forward again, and she tried to shift to put some distance between his familiar body and her own. “But please, mi corazón, please try to believe me.” Angela had never heard Gabriel beg before; that the first time would be now, when he was the Reaper and her enemy, was disconcerting. “Just hold on for one more day,” his mask dropped to regard her bandaged arms meaningfully before rising again. “If not for me or yourself, then for the others. You know what your death would do to them.” Angela shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. “You know they want you to live.” Of course her friends wanted her to live – but they hadn’t found her. She had been abandoned in that prison – this prison – and no one had saved her. Cool fingers touched her hand cautiously, but she remained still and kept her eyes closed. Angela waited for the touch to turn into a painful grip, to dig in and to hurt. But they just curled around her fingers, holding her hand in what Angela thought might be an attempt at comfort. It was so familiar that it hurt. Despite the pain, despite the knowledge that it was wrong, Angela couldn’t force herself to pull away. She was too stubborn, though, to let her fingers tighten around his own. Instead, her hand remained limp in his grasp as she turned her gaze towards the ceiling and away from the Reaper’s mask to try to hide her conflicting emotions. Then, he ruined it. “I’m sorry, Angela.” She stiffened and would have pulled away, but his hands – both of them, now – trapped her own in a firm grip. Were she stronger, she probably could have wrenched away, but she had wasted all her strength earlier with Baptiste. “You were the one I was never supposed to hurt, who I had sworn to protect.” His voice was solemn, as if confessing – but it wasn’t a confession when the monster before her hadn’t been the one to make those oaths. It was a lie, tailored carefully to maximize the pain when they stopped pretending again. He seemed earnest, though; Angela hadn’t realized what a good actor he was. Had Gabriel acted like this when they had been together all those years ago, or was this a new skill that the Reaper had picked up along the way? Angela prayed it was the latter, because the former was far too painful to consider. “I ruined everything. I know you hate me.” Angela glanced over to find his head bowed over their clasped hands. “I know you can never trust me and that nothing I can do or say will be enough to make up for what I’ve done.” He took in a harsh breath, made louder by the mask he wore. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, but for everything I’ve done: I’m sorry.” The Reaper released her hand then, pulling away to rest against the back of the chair and give her space once more. A small, hopeful – traitorous – part of her heart wanted to reach out and reclaim his hand with her own, to believe his apology was real and that he was Gabriel. Fortunately, her time in that freezing room of chains and blood had hardened her, even this weak self that was merely Angela. It was what allowed her to look away again and lay her hand back down on the stained sheets. It was what gave her the strength to remain silent and to keep herself from crying – though what, exactly, she would be crying over eluded her.

---

She opened her eyes to find she was in a new place - again. The last thing she remembered was the Reaper lifting her off the bloody sheets so Baptiste could strip the bed. She had let her eyes drift to the open door - something she usually couldn’t see from the bed; Jack had been there, leaning against the doorframe to watch her with heavy eyes. She had fallen asleep as he whispered warnings of betrayal and heartbreak. He had urged her to be strong because this would take everything she had - and then some. Angela glanced around her new surroundings, trying to be surreptitious but sure she was failing. It appeared she was in a car again; if it was the same one that the Reaper had stuffed her in the first time, she wasn’t sure. He sat to her left, behind the wheel as he had the last time. Her dress was no longer green; at some point, probably when they had changed the sheets, they had put a blue dress on her. It took her a moment to realize that the vehicle wasn’t moving. They were idling with a large expanse of grass before them. Angela wasn’t sure if they were on the side of a road or not, since she wasn’t craning her neck to look behind or to the left. “It’s almost over, Angela,” the Reaper murmured once she had stilled in her seat. Angela stiffened at the reminder that she would have a companion in her captivity in less than an hour. Maybe more than one - despite all his knowledge, she didn’t think Cole knew how to pilot any form of aircraft. “After today, you’ll never see me – or Talon – again.” He promised her, once the silence between them became heavy and strained. “You’ll be safe.” She didn’t believe him, of course; Angela knew she was destined to die in a Talon interrogation cell. She kept her eyes fixed on the grass outside, searching for the troops that she knew were waiting out there somewhere. “Look,” the Reaper rumbled sometime later, one clawed hand lifting and drawing her attention away. Unable to help herself, she looked in the direction he indicated. “There they are.” Her eyes found a dark spot on the horizon: an air carrier, heading their way. Angela wished there was something - anything - she could do to stop what was to come. She didn’t have the strength to protect them, and that crushed her just as badly as the blows across Cole’s body would. “Shh, cariño,” the Reaper soothed. Angela immediately bit off the small, pitiful sounds she had been making, but it was impossible to stop her tears. She turned her head away, attempting to hide her face from his sight as she grieved. It wasn’t long before the roar of the carrier filled the air. Angela couldn’t help but watch in horror, tears streaking her cheeks, as it drew closer. The car rocking drew her attention away; she hadn’t heard him open the door, but now the Reaper was stalking around the front of the vehicle to open her door. “It’s time, Angela.” The words were practically a shout so he could be heard over the carrier. She trembled as he leaned in to unbuckle her; then, she was up in his arms and pressed against his chest once more. Her left leg - knee still shattered, as far as she could tell - only complained slightly. Angela looked at it, curious; it appeared there were at least two, maybe three, braces around the knee - it forced her leg to remain straight, even without any support from below. As he turned them, the carrier touched down. He kept them next to the vehicle until the cargo doors opened. The turbines continued to roar - Angela would have been surprised if they had stopped them, considering that this was a trap - as a familiar figure began making his way cautiously towards them. Behind him on the ramp loomed two other people - a familiar large man and a less familiar woman. When the Reaper started walking, Angela began shaking enough that her teeth chattered; this was bad, this was bad, this was bad. Any minute now, Talon forces would appear and throw the cowboy to the ground. His hat would tumble off and be left, forgotten, in the grass as he was dragged into hell with her. The Reaper tightened his grip on her, his mask tilting down to consider her briefly, but if he said anything, it was lost to the roar of the carrier. Instead, she got to watch in horror as Cole Cassidy – he was real this time, right? – drew closer. One hand was resting defensively on Peacekeeper, his sharp eyes darting around as he searched for the trap they both knew existed. She wanted to scream at him to run, but she knew her disused voice would never reach him over the roaring. The space between them narrowed until, suddenly, they were only five feet apart.

Cole drummed his fingers impatiently against his seat. He never thought he’d be sitting in an Overwatch carrier again, but he never thought Angela would be kidnapped – tortured – either. Across from him sat Reinhardt, who was leaning forward against his giant hammer with his head bowed. His enormous armor nearly hid the smaller woman at his side – Brigitte, Torbjörn’s daughter. Lena was piloting the air carrier. She had managed to pick up the three of them and was now flying them to Numbani, but they were cutting it rather close. It was only the four of them; if this turned out to be a trap, the odds were heavily out of their favor. Cynical as he was, Cole expected one. Reyes and Angela had history; that much was true. Reyes had sworn to protect Angela - they all had, in their own ways - but Cole knew that personal honor meant very little to his previous Commander. Besides, it had been five years; that was a long time, and Reyes had been staining his hands with Overwatch blood in that time. No, this was a trap and Angela was the bait. It was too perfect: she was being ‘rescued’ by the Reaper - who just happened to be Gabriel Reyes of all people? The rush for a next-day meeting, for fear of being ‘caught’? No. There was no way in hell that this was anything but a trap. “We’re on the final approach,” Lena called back. “Scanners are only picking up two people – that’s got to be them.” Cole knew there were ways to hide from scanners, so that information wasn’t as comforting as he’d like. “Alrigh’ then. Let’s put ‘er down an’ get Ange back.” Cole was impatient to get this done – one way or another. He turned towards the two across from him. “You two need t’ stay back on th’ cargo ramp. Watch my back and come down swingin’ if things go sideways.” “I do not like this.” Reinhardt boomed as the carrier began to descend. “We should go with you; it is too dangerous.” Cole understood where the warrior was coming from; his job was always to protect those around him, and this was no different. Still, that didn’t change the fact that a show of force would probably end badly. “Trust me on this one,” Jessie replied, shaking his head. “We don’ wanna risk Ange.” He doubted that Reyes had lied about Angela’s health. Cole didn’t want Angela in any more danger than necessary. It was undoubtedly a trap, so having backup was more necessary than a show of force. Besides, if Reyes really was trying to protect Angela, like he had in the past, it would be far too dangerous for them to antagonize him with a heavy presence. “Then I should go!” Reinhardt insisted, one hand raising to slap his chest plate loudly. “My armor will protect me - and the doctor - if it is a trap; you would be killed!” That was a valid point – past the cargo ramp, he doubted that there would be no cover. Still, Cole shook his head again. “He called me. It’s gotta be me.” This was either a convoluted trap to capture him, or it was a genuine request for help. Knowing Reyes as he did, Cole knew that he had to walk off that ramp alone. The carrier landed with a gentle jolt; as soon as it was steady, both men were on their feet with Brigitte not far behind. Reinhardt towered over Cole in a way that would be intimidating if Cole didn’t know the German man. “You’ve gotta wait on the ramp; stay put unless things turn sour.” Reinhardt’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. Cole took that to be agreement, so he gestured towards the cargo hold. “If things do go bad, jus’ make sure y’get Ange. She’s the priority.” He allowed Reinhardt to precede him down the ramp, his giant blue shield erupting to life from his arm. Cole paused behind the warrior to allow his eyes to adjust. Once he could see clearly, he quickly found the Reaper standing in front of a car about two hundred feet away. In his arms was a bundle of blue cloth that had Angela’s head at the top. She looked thin and fragile – words he had never used to describe her except for that period directly after the fall. Cole met Angela’s terrified eyes briefly; based on her stark terror, she believed this was a trick. Cole forced himself to look away, fingers tightening on Peacekeeper as he searched for the trap. Cautiously, Cole pushed past Reinhardt’s barrier, as he and the Reaper approached each other. Even when they were within grabbing distance, Cole kept his hand tight on his weapon. From this point forward, he would be at his most vulnerable; once he took Angela into his arms, he’d find it hard to defend himself - or his precious cargo. While Reinhardt and Brigitte were nearby, it was still a long distance for them to travel. “It’s just me,” the Reaper shouted over the turbines, voice gravely as he closed the final few steps between them. This close, Cole could see her hollow cheeks and how hard she was trembling; it hurt his heart to see how damaged Angela – normally their pillar of strength – was. They had thought she was safe, and they had been wrong. “We both know I ain’t trustin’ you,” the cowboy returned gruffly. If it weren’t for Angela, he’d have shot the Reaper when he’d stepped off the ramp. He released his gun reluctantly so he could reach out for the doctor. Carefully, with a gentleness that proved that this was Reyes, the hooded figure lowered her into Cole’s arms. “Watch her knee,” Reyes rasped, as if Cole couldn’t see the straps and splints wrapped around it. The woman was lighter than she should be and shaking so hard Cole thought she might just come apart. “I gotcha, darlin’,” he assured her, though his eyes stayed firmly on Reyes. “There’s a list in one of her pockets,” Reyes shouted with a vague hand gesture towards Angela. “Everything that’s happened to her is written there.” Cole nodded once in acknowledgment. Though he wanted to look down at the small woman in his arms, reassure her that everything would be alright, he kept his eyes on the Reaper. “If I see you again, I’ll put a bullet in you.” It was another promise, one that he would be more than happy to keep. If he were able, he’d shoot him now and be done with it - but he had his hands full. “I deserve it,” Reyes agreed with a shrug, “but not for the reasons you think.” Cole felt Angela stiffen; clearly, there was something there. Hopefully, it was on the list Reyes mentioned. He’d hate to have to ask Angela about it after everything she’d been through. Reyes stepped backward, clearly done with their interaction. Cole took a step back too – and paused when one final question popped into his head. “Why’d you save her?” He shouted. Reyes stopped, head tilting as he considered Cole and his question. “Why did she save me?” Reyes called back. With that, Reyes turned his back entirely and walked away, confident that Cole would prioritize Angela over shooting him. It was hard to reconcile the image of the Reaper with the man Cole had once known. But it was obvious some part of Reyes was still alive; after all, the Reaper would never have allowed Cole – or any of the other remnants of Overwatch behind him – to leave unscathed. Still, Cole refused to turn his back to the clearing, even though it made his return trip much harder. However, before he had made it halfway back, Reinhardt had stomped forward to cover his retreat with his shield. Around that time, Reyes reached his vehicle; instead of climbing inside, he had turned to watch as Cole carried Angela away. The entire time Angela was a silent, shaking mass in his arms. “Thought I told you t’ wait on th’ ramp,” he grumbled as he turned his back on the clearing, trusting Reinhardt to protect them. Cole could feel Reyes’ eyes on his back as they moved further and further away. He didn’t look back at the monster from his past; the angel in his arms held all of his attention. “You are both too important to lose,” Reinhardt retorted. Cole shook his head before closing the remaining distance to the carrier. “Everythin’ alright, then?” Lena called from the pilot’s chair. Already she was flipping the switches that would get them into the air, even with the carrier door still closing. “We’ve got her,” Cole answered; he couldn’t say it was alright because the trembling woman in his arms clearly wasn’t. But, they had her back – and that was something, wasn’t it? They could call in people, and then she would be better. They could fix this. They would fix this. She deserved no less.

---

“This is normal?” Lena’s voice rose, practically to a shout. “Keep your voice down,” Cole growled with a meaningful glance towards Angela; Lena looked away guiltily, gnawing on one lip nervously. He knew he shouldn’t snap because it really didn’t matter how loudly they spoke. Angela had become unresponsive shortly after they had flown away from the clearing in Numbani. Even now, hours later in Watchpoint: Warsaw, she was still staring vacantly. “Yes, this,” he gestured towards Angela, “is normal.” Cole hadn’t needed Reyes’ list to tell him that this could happen. While he hadn’t dirtied his hands with torture – ‘interrogation’ – he’d seen the aftermath. “‘s a defense mechanism; she can’ be hurt if she ain’ here.” Considering what Angela had been through, he wasn’t surprised that she was protecting herself in the only way she had left. “But, she’s with us,” Lena protested, voice markedly quieter than previously. “We’re not gonna hurt her.” Cole shook his head, smiling mirthlessly. He wished he could have the same optimistic outlook, but life had been far kinder to Lena than it had been to him - or Angela. “You and I,” his hand shifted, pointing at first her then himself, “we know that. But Ange?” He looked over at the broken doctor sadly. “She doesn’ know it. Doesn’ believe it.” Cole sighed, one hand raking through his hair in absent frustration before fixing his hat. “It’ll be a long while before she recovers.” If she recovered, but Cole wasn’t willing to voice that aloud. Cole had read the list that Reyes had scrawled out, which detailed all the atrocities that Angela had been subjected to. Some were rather obvious - her malnutrition showed in her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, the shattered knee in the various braces. Others were easy to see, if one knew where to look - the suicide attempt in the bandages on her arms, the scar at her lip proving her stubborn defiance. The worst, however, were the invisible wounds. Reyes had written a small paragraph instead of a bulleted list at the very bottom of the note. “I was the one who kidnapped her from Cairo and put her in chains. I’m the one that captured her after she managed to escape, and put scars into her arms and her heart when I put her back. I was the one that gave the order to escalate her torture, that made her into this. Angela knows who I am and how I have betrayed her. I don’t know if there is anything left of her to save after what’s been done to her - what I’ve done to her - but I know that you’ll protect her like I should have. -R” It had taken everything in him to keep from crumpling the letter or tearing it into pieces; despite his absolute rage at what was revealed, Cole knew that the doctor - who still hadn’t arrived - would need the information within it. He hadn’t told anyone else of its existence; they didn’t need to know the particulars of what she had gone through - hell, he didn’t need to know it either. But he had read it anyway. “Hey, Cassidy?” Lena’s voice was soft, almost tremulous. He glanced towards the younger woman, who was wringing her hands and fidgeting; even now, she was unable to keep still. “She’s gonna be alright, isn’t she? We weren’t, you know, too late?” Cassidy didn’t know how to answer that question. He could be honest or he could be optimistic, but he couldn’t be both. Cole was saved from answering by Angela as she shifted and gasped softly. Before Lena could do anything, Cole’s hand flew out and clamped down hard on her wrist. That she jerked against his grasp told him he had been right to grab her; Lena turned to look at him, mouth opening either in protest or in question, and he shook his head sharply. Once he was sure Lena wasn’t going to leap out of her seat, Cole released her and fully turned his attention to the blonde. He wasn’t sure if Angela had been looking around or not - his gaze had been on Lena during those first moments instead of Angela - but now she was staring at the two of them. Usually, he couldn’t read her emotions or thoughts on her face, but Angela’s terror was obvious even to him. “You’re safe, Ange,” Cole assured her after the silence between them had grown too long. He could practically feel Lena’s explosive energy next to him, but somehow the British woman managed to keep her seat. Angela’s wary eyes darted from him to Lena and back again. “Is - Is this -” Angela’s voice was hesitant and rough from abuse. “Are you - real?” Her voice broke then; the pure desolation made his heart ache for her. “We’re real, darlin’,” Cole assured her. In the silence, he nudged Lena’s leg with one booted foot. “Wha- oh, yeah! It’s all real, love.” Lena’s voice was chipper and bright, with barely a note of hesitation to betray her worry. “You’re with Overwatch.” Angela flinched then; Cole gritted his teeth as he forced himself not to imagine what had conditioned such a reaction in her - and found it impossible, considering the note he’d read. Lena glanced towards Cole, clearly unsure of how to act in the face of Angela’s fear. “Ange.” Cole leaned forward a little, bridging that small gap between them. He was gratified to see she didn’t react negatively to the movement; instead, she looked up towards his intense face with the barest hint of hope. “If you don’ wanna be with Overwatch,” he forced himself to ignore her wince, “you jus’ say the word an’ it’s done.” Lena made a small sound of protest, but he spoke before she could say anything. “I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go, darlin’. Whatever you want.” Cole knew that Overwatch was, probably, the safest place for Angela to be while she recovered - if she could recover. He knew that any decision she made now would be impaired by her trauma. Still, he would fight everyone - Winston, Lena, the UN - to take her wherever it was she’d feel safe. Angela’s eyes darted around; Cole wasn’t sure if she was looking for something in particular or if this was curiosity. He watched as her hands fisted and twisted her blankets, waiting for her to say something - anything. “I -” She pressed back into the pillow, glancing to the side and worrying at her scarred lip. “I don’t want to go back.” Her voice, barely audible, was small and sad. Cole wasn’t sure if she was referring to Overwatch or Talon, but, in the long run, it didn’t really matter to him; whatever happened next, Cole would make sure that Angela was safe and happy. “You won’t.” Lena piped up before Cole could assure the doctor. Obviously, she had interpreted Angela’s statement to be about Talon, but Cole wasn’t completely convinced. “We won’t let them take you, Dr. Ziegler, I promise. We’ll keep you safe.” Angela’s face crumpled then; she turned her head away quickly, but not before Cole saw the tears there. Were they from relief, at being safe from her tormentors? Or was it from grief, at the reminder that they should have kept her safe - and hadn’t? Slowly, cautiously, Cole reached out to touch one of her clenched hands. Angela jumped, recoiling from his hand as if it burned. Her head turned, wild eyes wide and bright, as she stared down at his fingers as if she’d never seen them before - like she hadn’t put him back together countless times. He pulled back slightly, giving her space while remaining close enough for her to reach out if she wanted. “We - I - failed you, Angela,” Cole said, voice low. “It won’t happen again. I swear it.” He could see the hope and despair - the disbelief and desperation - that was roiling within her as she continued to stare at his hand. After what felt like an eternity, Angela’s hand rose. Trembling, she reached out towards him - before flinching back and away again. Cole didn’t move, didn’t react in any way; Lena gasped, a small sound that seemed to roar in the small space. Angela reached out again, but this time she didn’t recoil. He remained unmoving as she touched his fingers tentatively, afraid that anything would scare her off again. When her hand curled around his in a weak grasp, head bowed as she trembled and shook, he allowed himself to gently tighten his fingers around hers. Maybe there was hope for her, after all.

You led me here, Then I watched you disappear. You left this emptiness inside And I can't turn back time - Never Be the Same [Red]

Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six

This is, unfortunately, the end of Breaking [My Heart]. I do intend to continue this story in a second installment, but I haven't quite got it put together yet. I know what I want it to look like (mostly), but apparently writing requires you to actually write, annoyingly enough. Writing has become a challenge (again, ugh) due to real life getting in the way (again). I've been stressing about the business I own (US Tax preparation) while working as a manger at my mothers' trampoline park. Long hours have left me with little time to do pretty much anything that isn't eating or sleeping, and when I do try to write I just can't seem to get the words out. I hate that I have my unfinished work (Forged) that I just can't seem to close plus the recovery arc for Breaking [My Heart]. They're mostly outlined but, like I said earlier, writing requires writing and I can't seem to get the scenes out of my head and onto paper. I do have a few pieces that are written for my one-shot sets, The Healer, which I'll post sporadically (and, which will, hopefully bridge the gap until I can properly write again). I appreciate all of you that read my work and leave comments; truly, every time I see the notification I get super excited and I love that you feel strongly enough about my writing to tell me about it. I hope that I continue to produce work that you can enjoy! Feel free to reach out to me here. Until next time, stay happy and healthy!

Breaking [My Heart]: Act I Capturing

"There's nothing simple when it comes to you and I, Always something in this everchanging life" - Everchanging [Rise Against] Winston has issued the recall towards rebuilding Overwatch. Angela - formerly known as "Mercy" - is captured by Talon, who are searching for any information that can stop the rise before it begins.

AO3 | FF.net | Works | Pandora Playlist

Trigger Warnings & General Statements This is a dark torture story. As such, there's going to be bad things happening - for the sake of not spoiling, I will not tag what, exactly will be appearing at any time. While I don't think any of the scenes are terribly graphic in nature, I do want to stress that the scenes are present and aren't for everyone. I did try to make the reactions and trauma realistic, following both real-world medicine / research and in-game universe canon (such as Angela's nanotechnology). There will be multiple POVs per chapter - two sets for both Angela and Reaper as well as a fifth from an additional character. Please, read at your own risk - and enjoy!

There’s no pain that I won’t go through, Even if I have to die for you. - Die for You [Starset]

Angela idly ran her fingers along a familiar storage container as she moved to her closet. It had been a long time since she had opened it to don her Valkyrie suit and carry her Caduceus staff, since she had been Mercy – and she wasn’t changing that today. Instead, she tugged on a mismatched set of scrubs, a pair of boots, and her medical coat. Angela pulled her hair up off her neck into a tight bun before slathering herself with sunscreen. Her pale skin would turn red and blistered if she didn’t take the precaution; she didn’t particularly want to be more miserable than she already was here. With a long-suffering sigh, she left her small apartment and stepped into the heat of the day. She missed Switzerland; it was so hot here in Cairo compared to her cooler homeland. But her comfort didn’t matter – no, what mattered were that people were suffering here. They may scoff and scowl at her, growl that she was not welcome, but that didn’t matter either. What mattered was that she could help these people, regardless of what they thought, and that was what she would do. Immediately, sweat prickled along her skin, but she ignored it. She pulled out a tablet instead, swiping through the information there to determine how her day would pass. There were many patients to check in on, either to look over their bandages or to provide medication. She had a surgery planned for later in the day – some poor man was losing his arm. All of this assumed that nothing happened to upset the delicate balance. No new attacks – terrorist or gang, it all ended the same for her – or significant accidents that left everything spinning out of control. Not that she would utter one word of complaint; these people deserved the best she could provide after all they had been through. It wasn’t their fault that the world had fallen to pieces. No, that burden fell across her shoulders and all those who had been with Overwatch when it had collapsed. They had done much good, but they had also been the cause for so much horror as well. Now, Winston was trying to resurrect the organization, to pull Overwatch back from the ashes. Her communicator – a relic from her past that she couldn’t seem to let go of – had been blinking when she had returned home two days ago. In a different, better, lifetime, Angela would have carried it with her everywhere she went; now, it was an awkward paperweight on her kitchen counter that she sometimes remembered to pocket on the chance that one of her friends would call. She had been curious – who wouldn’t be? – so she had watched his video message. Once it was over, Angela had sat back with her arms crossed, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Did she want to go back? Her life had been so much different since the fall. All her life’s work had been taken from her by the UN and WHO to be distributed among others after Overwatch had fallen. She had become a pariah where once she had been much sought after for her prowess in both the research labs and operating rooms. Now, she faced scorn everywhere she went. She had been the last defender of Overwatch, after all. Angela had been one of the most visible members of Overwatch – her wings had made that almost a foregone conclusion, even if they weren’t excellent PR material – and thus many recognized her, even outside of her Valkyrie suit. In the aftermath of the fall, Angela had stood in the spotlight to try to appease the masses. Did she want to pick up the pieces and start over again? All she had ever wanted to do was help people. Mostly, she had succeeded at that in Overwatch. Angela had helped minimize – and mitigate – civilian loss, both in the planning and execution phases of strike missions. As often as she was able, she had served on the front lines to help defend not only the agents of Overwatch, but the innocents caught in the middle. She had spearheaded innovative research that was, even now, being expanded upon to better the world. Could she do it all again? She wasn’t sure her heart could survive a second round. It had nearly killed her the first time to bury the victims and support the survivors. Angela didn’t even know where most of her friends were on most days. Genji had gone to Nepal and, as far as she was aware, hadn’t left. Similarly, Winston had holed up at Watchpoint: Gibraltar to safeguard Athena and what files remained of Overwatch. But the rest? Last she had heard, Lena was prowling around England, and Cassidy had racked up an enormous bounty in North America. Reinhardt had convinced Torbjörn’s daughter, Brigitte, to follow him across Europe as he continued to protect the weak. Torbjörn had told her about it a few months ago, grumpy in his worry for the two. Two of her medics, Remington and Daigneau, crossed her path occasionally. They had followed in her footsteps – or steps just like them – and had joined the Doctors Without Borders. Angela wondered which, if any, of them would answer the call Angela wasn’t sure she would. This wasn’t a decision she could make lightly. One would make her a criminal – Overwatch was disbanded and forced into inaction by the PETRAS act. The other would make her – what? A coward? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that if she didn’t answer, her life would continue as normal. It wasn’t glamorous – quite the opposite, in fact. It was hard and dirty, but she would be helping people. If she answered, her life would change again. And this time, there were no guarantees – Overwatch was rising, starting from nothing to try to safeguard the world once more. Angela wasn’t sure what the right path was – so she left the blinking “Y // N” unanswered.

---

For once, her day went mostly as planned. Usually, some sort of emergency occurred, throwing off her day and putting her timetable into disarray. She thrived in the chaos: hurriedly reprioritizing patients and rushing around, trying to keep everyone alive and comfortable, made it easy to forget the nightmares and the heartbreak that was her life. Not that her day wasn’t busy, even without interruptions or surprises – it just was orderly. She opened the door to her apartment with a sigh, rubbing at her back with a free hand. Maybe she would take a bath tonight and try to force her body into some semblance of relaxation. Angela locked the door before flipping the lights on and striding further into the small space she currently called home – and then froze, eyes widening. It was only her years of combat experience that kept the keys within her suddenly numb fingers. The Reaper was here. He was settled on her only couch, lazily reclined as if this was his home and not hers. His face, hidden by a bone white skull mask, had turned to regard her. Despite his casual pose, his very presence was menacing – and that was before she took in the shotgun on the cushion next to him. She wasn’t fooled; Angela was confident he could have it in his hands and fired before she could reach the door. Her hand dropped to her waist automatically, where her blaster used to sit – but she hadn’t carried the weapon in years. Angela knew that she should have started carrying it again after the cryptic phone call she had received a week ago. It had been a warning of impending danger and that she should leave Cairo to find help before it was too late. The caller had had enough information about her to make her nervous, but she hadn’t been willing to allow it to drive her away. Danger? Ever since she had joined Overwatch, that had been her life. Angela had served as the Medical Director, a powerful position made even stronger by her will and sheer genius; there were very few Overwatch operatives that were more valuable than she was. Then, she had enlisted as a combat medic and protected their strike teams – and she had the scars to prove it. Now, her life wasn’t much different from that of her time in the field; uncomfortable lodgings, dangerous surroundings, long work hours, and generally ungrateful patients that laid the blame for their troubles at her feet. She should have taken precautions when she had stayed. Angela should have called one of her friends – her protectors – about the warning, but she hadn’t wanted to get them worked up over what was probably nothing. She should have carried her weapon, but she had worried that it would bother her patients – and she already had enough trouble with that. She could have even moved to make it a little harder for an enemy to find her, but she barely had time to eat most days. Besides, she had believed that it was probably little more than a prank. Even now, years after the fall, people still grumbled about Overwatch. She’d had her fair share of curses thrown her way, and, in the early days, she had received plenty of prank calls that varied in nature. There was little to make her believe this was more than that. Angela had been safe – from terrorists, anyway – for years; there was no reason to think that had changed. Angela cursed her pride. She had become complacent, thinking she knew best. Now, she would pay the price for her hubris. “Well, well,” the man growled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clawed fingers steepled before him, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come home, Mercy.” Angela grimaced. She hadn’t answered to that name for years; it was a callsign that was as dead as the organization that had coined it. “That is not my name anymore.” Angela corrected automatically; it was a habit so ingrained she couldn’t stop the words from falling from her lips. She kept herself from wincing at the foolish declaration and instead donned an air of cool detachment. Her pride demanded that she keep her fear hidden from him, that she could show no weakness before her obvious predator. And he was a predator. The Reaper was well known for his violence; terrible, mutilated bodies were left in his wake wherever he went. More than one ex-Overwatch member had been his victim. That he would appear here, before Overwatch’s guardian angel – their Mercy – meant she was in his sights now. She wondered what it was he wanted from her – and if she would give it. The doctor was fairly sure that he wasn’t here for her blood. After all, why speak to her if all he wanted was to kill her? “That’s too bad.” He rose, grabbed the shotgun, and aimed it at her in one singular, fluid motion. “It’s Mercy I am looking for.” It had been a long time since she had stared down a barrel of a gun; she had forgotten just how terrifying it was. Angela forced herself to stiffen her spine and raise her chin slightly in defiance. If she were going to die, it would not be cowering. “What do you want from me?” She demanded, somehow managing to keep the words steady. That he hadn’t pulled the trigger meant that he was willing to overlook her verbal misstep earlier. It meant that whatever he wanted was more important than spilling her blood – right now. “Information, of course.” The gun remained trained on her, but Angela forced her eyes to move past it to his body. Hopefully, should he decide to pull the trigger, she would see it telegraphed in his body language and escape. It was a dubious hope, considering his kill sheet, but it was all she had to hold on to now. “I haven’t been active in years,” the doctor deflected. “I could not possibly have any information you need.” Angela knew it was a lie even as the words fell from her lips. She had information that would be valuable to the wrong organizations. Locations of prominent members – such as Genji, who had, for all appearances, fallen off the map – was only the tip of the iceberg. While she had been removed from research by the UN and WHO, she still was one of the greatest medical minds of their time. Under her guidance, medicine had improved by leaps and bounds; it was a pity she no longer could continue such works. They had relegated her to the sidelines, only contacted for advice or ideas. Reaper clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “And here I heard you were a genius.” Nothing could have kept her still when he started stalking across the room towards her. She backed away, keys dropping to the floor, until there was nowhere left to go – and then he was barely an arm’s length away from her. “You expect me to believe that Overwatch is on the rise, and no one told you?” “Overwatch is dead and gone.” The words did not tug at her heart, did not cause any emotional response at all. She had long since come to terms with the closure of that chapter of her life. Angela would not acknowledge the call that had been put out, would not confirm or deny that Overwatch was trying to reform. While she had not decided if she would return, she would not risk the safety of those who answered. “That’s not what I’ve heard.” Resolution filled her. This man, monster, wanted information on her friends; she would not – could not – give it to him. Even if it killed her, she would protect them. They were still hers to shield, whether she was with them or apart. That was her last, final burden from her days with her Overwatch, and it would be hers to carry until she died. “Then you clearly know more than I do.” Angela lied easily. It surprised her that Talon already knew of the recall. They must have intercepted the transmission; the idea of any prior member of Overwatch turning to Talon was a hard pill to swallow, even considering how the organization had fallen. “Lying will only make this worse for you, Mercy.” Her callsign was a taunt, bait that she refused to take a second time. Pure terror had flooded her veins; it was only an act of sheer willpower that had kept her knees from giving out underneath her. This was the worst she had faced yet, but she would face it standing. “It is not a lie,” Angela insisted. “Overwatch is dead.” Even if she rejoined under Winston’s banner, she was certain that she would always consider Overwatch – or at least, her Overwatch – dead. How could it exist in a place that her friends, her family, did not? “Last chance.” He warned; it surprised her that he gave her one at all. Even so, Angela did not consider, not even for one moment, to provide him with the information he wanted to protect herself. In defense of others, she was at her most stubborn and determined. That cost had come to her in the form of bullet wounds and nightmares when she was with Overwatch; here, that cost would – hopefully – be her demise. She was all too aware that there were many things worse than death. Angela remained silent, her eyes staring a challenge at the slits where she knew the Reaper’s eyes peered from. If he would not accept her lie the first two times, it would be pointless to voice it again. After a long moment, the man let the gun drop so he could crowd her against the door. One clawed hand rose to grip her throat, tilting her chin to look up towards the mask that hovered above her. “Just remember, you brought this on yourself.” He growled, rebuke and glee twisted around the words. He increased the pressure, cutting off the blood flow to her brain; despite the futility of the action, Angela’s hands raised to try to pry his fingers away. Her vision swam as she desperately clung to consciousness. It was a useless effort; within moments, she was unconscious.

The Reaper watched as Angela regained consciousness through the single window into the concrete room that was now her home. She looked insubstantial, almost ethereal, under the lights meant to keep her blind to her surroundings. The woman was hanging from chains in the precise center of the room. She barely had enough slack to rest her weight on her feet properly. While she had been unconscious, her wrists and shoulders had held that weight entirely in a way that was designed to be painful. Gabriel watched through the Reapers’ eyes as she pulled against the chains that held her. Saw the confusion play across her face as she heard the faint clanking, which turned to pain as she realized the stress her wrists and shoulders had been placed under. Then, her eyes fluttered open, blinking painfully in the too-bright light, before futilely trying to look up at the chains. He saw the curious detachment turn to stark panic before smoothing away into a neutral façade. He was unsurprised that she didn’t test the bonds further, that she didn’t call out, and kept her noise to a minimum. While Angela hadn’t had any special training in this aspect of their lives – they had never expected anyone to actually succeed in capturing her, not with the number of people willing to lay down their own lives for hers – she was a smart woman. Angela knew the grim reality she now faced. She had to know that the chains were the least of what she would meet in that room of gray and white. The Reaper supposed he should alert someone that she was, finally, conscious. Still, he lingered for a few minutes longer, relishing in her helplessness. After so long, he was going to see her pay for what she had done. The Reaper had fantasized about this day for years. Slowly, agonizingly, they would exact his revenge upon her flesh. He would drink down her pain and agony until, finally, the angel before him was no more. He had been tempted to be the one to break her – to split her flesh and flay her heart. It would be the least that she – that he – deserved after the pain she had inflicted. The council had even offered it to him, knowing the history that lay between the two. It surprised Gabriel that they hadn’t ordered him to do it, to prove his loyalties yet again to the terrorist organization that he had once fought against. He wasn’t sure if he felt rage or relief that they had not taken that choice away from him. Instead, Gabriel had found the strength to decline. The Reaper, usually the stronger of the two after so long, had been forced to accept his decision. They would observe, either from this little room or through the security feeds, whenever their other duties allowed. The Reaper, the dark, violent portion of his soul given life, would like nothing more than to tear apart, piece by piece, the woman who had turned him – them – into this. He would revel in the blood and agony, far more than any other member of Talon would. It was only fair, after all. Knowingly or not, she had condemned Gabriel to an existence that was the antithesis of everything he had once stood for. Everything she stood for. Gabriel wanted her to hurt, to feel what she had done to him – but he couldn’t be the one to do it. He knew that, should he go in there and break her, he would also break himself. The last, tenuous grasp he had on his humanity, on Gabriel and not the Reaper, lay within the blonde doctor trapped in the room before him. She had grounded him, had reminded him of his purpose, even while she was completely unaware of the shadow that stalked her. Even now, after everything, there was a part of Gabriel that loved her. There was a part that still remembered the promises he had made her – that they had made each other. He had given his heart to her, long ago in a place that he had destroyed, and she had never returned it. Instead, she had ripped her own from his grasp and left him with nothing but darkness and pain. All that remained was a monster that consumed the living with a terrible hunger that was never sated. On that dark day in Zürich over five years ago, Gabriel had destroyed her world. On that same day, Angela had forced the shadows upon him and shattered his psyche. He wondered if it had been a purposeful act, a punishment for the pain he had wrought, or a mere accident of science. That she hadn’t sought him out, had said nothing about the Reaper and who he might be, made him believe it was the latter. That Moira, a geneticist who – within her specialized field of study – could outsmart even Overwatch’s miracle worker, could not replicate it only reaffirmed that belief. That did not slake his anger in the slightest. The Reaper turned and stalked out of the small observation room, eager for them to begin his revenge. He was ready to drown in her blood and pain. The Reaper’s only hope was that she put on a good show before she eventually broke.

Angela wondered, vaguely, how long it would take for people to realize she was gone. Then, once her absence was noted, how long would it take before they realized it was by force rather than by choice? How long would it take for someone – anyone – to come looking for her? And, when they did, would they even be able to find her before it was too late? She tried to recall the last time she had spoken to any of her friends. There was no set schedule – sometimes she could go months without hearing from one or more of them, leaving her to worry that perhaps this time they had actually died and she would never hear from them again. Had she spoken to anyone recently? Stressed as she was, Angela couldn’t remember. She knew these thoughts were just a byproduct of her fear, but that did nothing to stop them – or to keep them from affecting her. There was nothing but pain and terror for her now. Either she could imagine the horrors that would be inflicted upon her in this room, or she could worry about the rescue that would never come. Angela was a firm optimist when it came to everyone but herself. She could hold on to hope that she could save others, but she did not believe anyone would save her. How could they? Angela was going to die in agony in their defense – and they would, probably, never know it. Or, perhaps, Talon would take pity on them. Maybe they would dump her mangled body for some poor soul to stumble upon. The media would go crazy – the last of the old guard, Overwatch’s angel, had perished – and her friends would mourn, but there would be closure. It wouldn’t be a mystery, whose answer had only been assumed after so many years of silence, like the deaths of their Commanders. Her friends. Her family. Despite her determination to show no fear for as long as she was capable, the door slamming open made her jump. The motion made her sway unsteadily on her feet, her shoulders complaining at the movement. Angela would welcome the distraction from her thoughts if it weren’t for the fact that it heralded far worse than what her mind could conjure. The blinding lights, shining hot and bright from the ceiling somewhere above, kept her from seeing her captors as they entered the room. There were at least two – perhaps three – sets of footsteps before the door slammed shut again. Suitably warned of her audience, though she was confident that someone was watching her even when she was alone, she kept her chin up and her face schooled in a calm veneer. It was a well-used expression that came easily to her after so many years of practice. Silence. Angela wondered if they expected her to break it, to demand answers that she would never receive. Perhaps, were she standing on her own ground, she would challenge them, but here? She was positive that she had never been more aware of her fragility. Of her mortality. She didn’t know what game they were playing, what tactics they were using. It didn’t particularly matter; Angela had plenty of patience. While she wasn’t certain her silence would bring a better or worse outcome – she wasn’t versed in interrogation (her mind skittered away from the more horrible word that applied to her situation) techniques – she would remain silent, regardless. Angela wasn’t under any illusions that she would escape this unscathed. She didn’t even believe she would escape at all. Still, her pride demanded that she make whatever stand she could. She was Dr. Angela Ziegler. She was the last bastion of Overwatch, their Mercy. Angela could – would – rise to the challenge and don the mantle of a hero one last time. A hand yanked her head back by her hair suddenly, turning her vision a blinding white before she could screw her eyes shut against the light and pain. That was when the demands began. Where were the prior members of Overwatch? Who would answer the call of reformation? Where would they make their home base? They enumerated names – Cole Cassidy, Howard Remington, Wilhelm Reinhardt – throughout, asking for specific information on every person she might still be in communication with. There were questions about her medical research, words awkwardly shaped by mouths that didn’t understand what they were asking. Angela refused to answer. Every time a question was met with silence, they would strike a blow. On her chest, just below her collarbone; her back, mere inches above her kidneys; her stomach, choking her as she gasped for air and swallowed back bile. She had never experienced violence, not personally, without her Valkyrie suit. She lamented its absence, wishing for the pain relief it brought. Instead, she had to grit her teeth and bear it. She reminded herself firmly that she had suffered before. Angela had been shot multiple times on varying occasions, had a building collapse on her, had darted through flames – but she’d had the Valkyrie suit to support her through it. Without it, those experiences were minimal compared to all that would come in this room. Her head bowed, hairs that had come loose from the bun she had tied just this morning – was it still the same day? She didn’t know – fanning around her face, and her eyes closed as she forced herself to do nothing more than grunt in pain. As they methodically dealt blows to her, she could feel the nanites within her body, putting her back together. They were her miracle, her salvation, her devastation. Angela’s body would heal much quicker than any human could naturally heal – though not anywhere near instantaneous – and prolong her agony in this terrible place. If they waited long enough, her body would be just as whole as it was when they brought her here; they wouldn’t have to lift a finger in her care. Angela didn’t know how long they stayed in the room with her. With her medical prowess and combat experience, she knew that they had done no lasting harm in this opening act. There were bruises, but they had broken nothing. They had taken care to avoid her kidneys and spine when they struck her back – and they hadn’t once touched her head at all after they released her hair at the very beginning. They were only warming up. The men – she assumed they were all men, as the lights had been far too bright for her to make out any of their features – had filed out as quietly as they had come. Angela did not hear it lock, but why would it? She wasn’t a flight risk; she couldn’t even protect herself, much less stage an escape from these chains. The lights remained on as she stood, swaying slightly on her feet, in her cage. Her head remained bowed, and her breathing was coming in ragged gasps through bruised ribs. Angela had told herself to be brave, to protect her friends and family unto death itself – but that was a simple decision when it was calm and still. It was so much harder when the pain was real, not imagined, and death was approaching one slow, agonizing inch at a time. Each blow that struck her body had also struck her resolution, battering against the walls she had erected around her heart and soul so she could be this last, final defense. She could only hope that she could hold her conviction close in the coming days when things would be even more desolate. Somehow, despite it all, she must survive.

The Reaper had watched, arms crossed and face impassive behind his mask, as the doctor was beaten. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he had expected to feel, watching her bite back sounds of pain and struggle to keep herself hidden away behind her aloof mask. The Reaper had no such qualms. He held a vicious glee, born from the sight of her dangling helplessly from her chains. It wasn’t quite the same as the euphoria he had felt when he had held her helpless form in his hands, but it had a terrible similarity. Her invisible flesh, hidden behind the scrubs she had been wearing when he had captured her, tempered the emotion. Though he was familiar enough with her body to imagine the mottled purple-black that would decorate her skin, it wasn’t quite the same. Indeed, he felt rage and resentment, ever-present whenever the Reaper looked upon the woman that had cursed them. It had grown, bottled up inside his dark heart, and was now finding some release as he took in her battered form. The relief was minor; without her blood, her bruised flesh, her screams, it was barely worth the effort of watching this first session. Angela had taken many painfully calculated blows, but it had been gentle compared to the misery he knew those men were capable of. He wasn’t sure if they had underestimated the doctor, as he had, or if they were just testing the waters. Gabriel had known that she would take blows – she was far too stubborn for her own good, just like another specter from his past. What he hadn’t expected was that she would remain silent the entire time. The Reaper felt robbed, somehow. Cheated. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to break, to scream, cry, beg, do something other than hang there in near-perfect silence. Angela had never had the highest pain tolerance, relying heavily on the Valkyrie suit to ignore injuries, and yet she had endured with barely a sound. Even now, she was collecting herself, her labored pants turning to soft breaths as she hung there with her head bowed. But maybe he was the fool. It had been years since he had experienced the power that was Dr. Angela Ziegler. He had forgotten how fiercely protective she was. Had forgotten that she forced her way onto battlefields to defend what was hers, because that was her duty. Had forgotten the iron steel that surrounded her heart, that she had to have to carry the burdens she so willingly shouldered. Had forgotten that she never showed weakness before anyone, that she always hid it away to deal with in private. Gabriel had only forgotten because, at one time, he had been the only exception to her rule. He had been the one she had turned to when everything – the research, missions, surgeries, nightmares, deaths – became too hard to carry alone. While Gabriel had never succeeded in taking the weight from her shoulders, it had been his honor to support her while she recovered. He had been the only one to see how terribly affected she was by everything. When she graced everyone else with steely eyes and gentle smiles, she had allowed him to see her nagging self-doubt and endless guilt. He had seen her, all of her. From grief-stricken after Ana’s death to worry when Jack had been airlifted back to Zürich. Her incandescent rage when Gabriel had demanded she stay out of the field to pure terror after he had taken a bullet for her. The stark relief when he returned home after a dangerous mission to mindless bliss within the safety of their bed. Everything that she was, he had seen – and could still see, even now. Gabriel could read her better than anyone in the world. He knew the little signs, the tells that gave her away to him; even after all this time, she was still the same. Angela had a tight grip on her emotions – always had – but Gabriel could see the terror that she had masked behind the stone wall of her face. Others might miss it, think she was just as unfeeling as her reputation had claimed, but he knew better. She felt more intensely and more purely than any other person he’d ever known. But, to survive as a child prodigy, as a medical genius ten years younger than her peers, she had to become more. As a girl and then a woman, Angela learned that the world would use her emotions as a weapon against her – so she had hidden them from sight. Even among friends – even alone with him – she’d had a hard time dropping those walls. Here, those walls would be put to the ultimate test. The Reaper intended to see them fall, brick by brick, until there was nothing left but a quivering human in the place of the angel. And then, once she had been brought back to Earth, he would kill her like the mortal she was.

Cole frowned down at the communicator in his hand. He had called to check in on Angela the afternoon before, but he hadn’t heard from her. That was unlike her; since the fall of Overwatch, she had always answered – or called back if she truly was incapable of answering – when they called. He knew she worried about them, the family that she had been the heart of, even now – perhaps especially now – when they were no longer her responsibility. Angela would drop nearly everything to go to one of them if they called, no matter how far the distance. Cole knew that he – and many, if not all – of the others would do the same for her. She was theirs just as much as they were hers. The cowboy wondered if it was Winston’s message, sent four nights ago, that was keeping her silent. Perhaps she thought one of them would try to talk her into – or out of – recreating the organization that had brought them together. That didn’t sound like the Angela he knew, though. Cole thought she might be more likely to receive a call right now. She wasn’t one to avoid a conversation just because it might be uncomfortable. It was that knowledge that had him dialing another number. “Hi there, Cassidy,” Winston’s voice filled his ear. At least he knew it wasn’t technical difficulties keeping him from hearing from their doctor. “I wasn’t sure I would hear from you.” If Angela hadn’t gone dark, Cole wouldn’t have called in at all – not yet, at least. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to go back, to try again after everything that had happened. “Hey there, big guy.” He and Winston weren’t close – their paths hadn’t crossed much during their time with Overwatch, given that Winston wasn’t exactly stealthy – but they were amicable enough. “I’m not callin’ ‘bout Overwatch, not right now, anyway.” He admitted, quickly changing the subject. “Have ya heard from Ange in the last coupla days? I can’t seem t’get ahold’a her.” “Dr. Ziegler?” Cole rolled his eyes. Angela had been Winston’s first friend and champion – had gotten into quite a bit of trouble over the gorilla, in fact, if he recalled correctly – and Winston still didn’t call her by name. “I haven’t heard from her since I sent the recall out. Athena,” Winston turned his attention away from Cole for a moment, “did Dr. Ziegler view the recall?” “My files indicate that she viewed your message one hour and thirty-seven minutes after you sent it.” A digitized feminine voice replied after a moment. It had been a long time since he’d heard Athena’s voice. She was an AI that his friend, Dr. Liao, had created, and now served as Winston’s assistant and advisor after Overwatch had disbanded. She was amazingly smart and had been a great asset for all of them – just as Dr. Liao had once been. “So, she got th’ message,” Cole mused. “Wonder why she ain’t answerin’ then.” Clearly, it wasn’t a problem of technology. She simply wasn’t answering or returning calls – at least, not his calls. Just because Winston hadn’t heard from her didn’t mean she wasn’t calling people. “Can Athena tell if she’s talked t’anyone?” Winston relayed the question. “I do not show that Dr. Ziegler has made any calls since Winston sent out the recall. I show that she has received three calls – two from Cole Cassidy and one from Lena Oxton. None were accepted.” The amount of information Athena could access was terrifying. All their electrical equipment – communicators, comm systems, probably Angela’s staff for all he knew – were connected to Athena since before Overwatch fell. Most had left those systems alone, though he was pretty sure some people had disabled it. “That ain’ like her.” Now Cole was even more worried. He had hoped it was just him – either she was avoiding talking to him for some reason, or their communicators were just busted – but she wasn’t talking to anyone. Before the fall, he could maybe see Angela getting distracted enough to forget to return a call or two, but now? Since the fall – since they’d lost so much – she had always answered and made time for them. “No, it isn’t.” Winston agreed gravely. There wasn’t much either of them could do about it, though. Cole was hunkered down in an abandoned house in the middle of Arkansas, trying to let the heat die down. His bounty, somewhere in the ballpark of seventy million the last time he’d checked, made it hard for him to get around sometimes. Likewise, Winston was stuck in Watchpoint: Gibraltar – though he might be moving since Talon was aware of his location and he was trying to raise Overwatch back from the dead. “Her communicator is still at her last known address. The Valkyrie and Caduceus systems are down.” Athena added helpfully as the two tried to figure out what to do. “Last known location is also her last known address.” That wasn’t like her. Angela didn’t go off the grid – she was the goddamned grid. Everywhere she went, she made waves, whether she wanted to or not. “Lemme make a call, see if I can’t get someone to go look in on her.” Cole only knew of one person in that part of the world. Hopefully, she’d be willing and able to get away long enough to help them out. He disconnected and dialed a second number. “C’mon, pick up already.” He grumbled under his breath as it rang and rang. “You have reached Captain Fareeha Amari of Helix Security International.” Of course he’d be sent to voicemail; that was just his luck. “Please leave your number and a detailed message, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.” There was a brief pause, and then a beep indicated that it was his turn to speak. “Hey there, Fareeha, it’s Cole.” He worried about leaving his name on her voicemail – he didn’t want her to get in trouble for associating with a criminal. “Y’might not remember me, but I used t’work with your mom. Couldja call me back, soon as ya get this? It’s real important.” He left his number and hung up, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake. Now came the waiting.

---

“‘lo?” He answered groggily, shoving his hat back into place and rubbing at his face with his free hand. It had been hours since he had left the voicemail; he wasn’t sure if he would even get a response today – or ever. “Cole?” Fareeha’s voice was quiet, like she was trying not to be overheard. That was fair – he was a criminal with an enormous bounty on his head. Someone like her – a Captain, taking after her mother – shouldn’t be seen interacting with someone like him. If it hadn’t been for Angela, he never would have called at all. “Yeah – yeah, it’s me.” He sat up, more alert now. Cole had forgotten what a pain time zones were; he’d probably called her in the middle of the night, just like she had. At least he had woken up. “Sorry for callin’ outta th’ blue like this. Doubt ya even remember me.” He’d spoken to her a few times before everything came crashing down, but Ana had tried to keep Fareeha separate from Overwatch as much as possible. “You let me wear your hat, once.” Her voice was wistful, reminiscent of her younger days. “My mother took a picture; I have it somewhere.” Huh. So she remembered him, after all. Now he felt a little guilty, not calling and checking on the younger Amari. Ana would have wanted him to do that. Angela had, he knew – but she checked on everyone. “What’s happened?” God, she sounded so much like her mother. Ana always cut to the heart of the matter, too, rarely tolerating idle chit-chat when there were things to be done. “It’s Ange. Uh,” she probably didn’t know Angela by that name, “I mean, Angela. Dr. Ziegler – Mercy.” The names tumbled over each other awkwardly; it had been a long time since he had used any of them. “We can’t seem t’get ahold’a her. I was wonderin’ if you could maybe go check in on her?” It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had. If he had to go, it would be days before he reached Cairo. “I don’t know if I can get away,” Fareeha said after a moment of consideration. Cole relaxed a little; she wasn’t going to blow him off. “Where is she? If it’s close, maybe I won’t have to ask.” Cole pulled up the address and read it off to her. “Hmm, too far.” Fareeha sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” It wasn’t much, but it was better than ‘no’ at least. “I really appreciate it, Fareeha. Really.” He tried to pump as much sincerity into the words. Fareeha didn’t have to do this for a stranger from her mothers’ past, but she was willing to try, anyway. “She’s my friend, too.” She hung up before he could respond. That blade of guilt twisted in his heart again. He was an ass. If they were both alive at the end of this, Cole would make up for it. Do what Ana would have done for them, what Angela did for them. He looked at his silent communicator, blinking the time – it was just a little past three in the morning. With a sigh, he set it back onto the floor next to him. Cole leaned back against the wall and pulled his hat down over his face once more. Maybe they were all overreacting. Maybe something had kept Angela busy these past days, so busy she came home too exhausted to do more than crawl into bed. That was something he could see her doing – she was notorious for it – but wouldn’t she call back in the morning? It just didn’t sit right with him. Cole closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable on the hard floor so he could get some rest. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

Here you are down on your knees again, Trying to find air to breathe again; And only surrender will help you now. - Again [Flyleaf]

Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six

Pretty sure every artist has the mutual understanding that if someone hasn’t made art or written in a while it’s because their struggling with mental health, don’t have the time to make stuff, burnout, or for other completely valid reasons.

People do care, just not in a way that they think you’re lazy